


A Kiss Before You Die

by Felicia_Rottingstone



Series: The Heart of a Saint [1]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Angst, BDSM, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Sad Ending, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-06-07 12:46:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15219452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felicia_Rottingstone/pseuds/Felicia_Rottingstone
Summary: Set during Saints Row 2, we finally understand why Carlos's death hurt Boss so much.  Lots of smut in the beginning.  Lots of sadness later on.





	1. Deferred Control

Tee’N’Ay was like home for me. The seventies porno music was like white noise, tuning out all the bad thoughts that could possibly run through my brain. The strippers were hypnotic, gyrating and dancing in multi-colored lights. It was like an anesthetic. I needed anesthetic tonight.

After an hour of sitting on the bar stool, my ice had melted into my drink and I was numb. So numb I didn't notice when someone slid into the seat next to me. I'm not sure how long Carlos let me brood before he tried talking to me. Ever since I had met him, he’d been particularly sensitive to what exactly it was I needed.  In the few short months I had known him, he had become an inextricable fixture in my life.

  
“What you drinking tonight?” he asked me, looking at the topless woman upside down on the pole in front of us instead of at me.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” I replied.

“Your usual is tequila shots and cheap beer,” he pointed out.  “That’s not what you’re drinking tonight.”

“It’s vodka.”

“Straight?” he asked.  I thought for a moment before answering him.  He knew what my usual drink was. How much else did he know?  How much did I want him to know?

“There was some ice in it.  Now it’s just water,” I finally responded.  We sat in silence for a few minutes, me lazily stirring my drink and staring into space, him spinning a ring on his index finger.

“I saw Johnny today,” he said.  “Doesn't look great, but he cussed at an orderly and hit on a lady doctor, so that’s a good sign, right?”

“Yeah, that’s a good sign,” I reassured him.  Johnny had been lucky. The sword Jyunichi stabbed him with had missed all of his vital organs.  Bad luck for Jyunichi. If he’d killed Johnny, he’d only have me coming after him, but now he’d have us both.

“Things like this…” Carlos started.  “I guess they come with the territory.  But it makes you grateful for the days you have.  The older I get, the more I realize how lucky I am.  Lotta guys like me are dead by 25.”

That made me laugh.  25 was still a long way to go for me.  

“Carlos, how old do you think I am?”  I asked him. He shrugged before responding.

“Gotta figure, at least as old as me.  Maybe 27, 28?”

“I turned 22 a bit before I came out of my coma.”  Carlos’s jaw dropped open. If he’d had a drink he would have spit it out.  “Don’t tell nobody. I’m the boss, but I’m younger than almost everyone. Even Shaundi’s got 4 months on me.”

“ _Dios_ mio,” Carlos whispered.  “How’d you end up here so young?”

“I joined the Saints at 17.  Practically my first day in Stillwater.”  I turned to look at him then, to gauge his reaction, and found his deep brown eyes studying me, his expression neutral.  So I continued.

“I ran away from home.  It doesn’t matter where, but things were...I figured a life on the street was better.  I could be a sex worker if I had to. I can’t dance, but I can suck a dick, eat pussy. I could run drugs if I needed to, or guns.  Whatever. I just wanted… different from what I had.

“It’s the middle of the night, and I’m just walking around, trying to get a lay of the city, figure out where was safe and where I could work, and I get caught up in this shootout between a bunch of gangs.  Next thing I know I’m in the Saints, no questions asked. I expected them to put me to work ho-ing, but instead they asked what I could do. I said I could point and shoot, and that was that. Never mind that I had never actually held a gun in my life.  I lie like that sometimes, but it worked out. It was fine, but it didn’t feel good until Johnny and I really started partnering up. That’s when I started to feel like I belonged, like I was worth something. I owe Johnny a lot for that.”

“You two are petty close, huh?”

“Johnny Gat is my best fucking friend in the whole fucking world. And Aisha, she was so cool.  When I first met her, I was awestruck. But she liked me, I guess. Taught me how to wear makeup like an adult.  Being with the two of them, I had a family. And now that’s gone forever.”

Carlos was silent, letting my story sink in.  He moved his hand toward me in a jerky motion, like he wanted to touch me, to reassure me, but thought better of it. It was a wise decision, on his part.  I wasn’t certain I wouldn’t have cut his hand off if he’d tried.

“I keep thinking that this whole thing wouldn’t have happened if Johnny weren’t so hung up on her.  Like me, if someone wanted to hurt me, there’s no one I love, no one who would be a helpless victim, no one who could be used as leverage,” I said.

“I think if you asked Johnny, he would say that what he and Aisha had was worth it,” Carlos responded.

“Don’t fucking do that.  Don’t put words in his mouth.  You don’t know how he feels,” I snapped.

“Oh come on, you don’t think love is worth it?  Don’t you want to know what the hype is all about?” he asked.

“No, not if it’s gonna end like this.  There’s a reason I pay for sex. No feeling, no risk.”

“Sex and love aren’t the same thing, boss,” he said.  “You don’t have to bang to love someone.” This time he did touch me, lightly, just two fingers on my wrist.  I felt like my skin was on fire where he touched me. I just stared at his hand, asking myself why he was touching me, why he was talking to me, why he followed me, why he had had my back at every turn, from before I even knew him.

“Why are you here, Carlos?” I finally asked him.  “You wanna be the shoulder I cry on, is that it?”

“You don’t seem like the crying type,” he said.

“So what then?  You wanna fuck? Is that why you’re here?  So you can get in my pants and then brag about it?”  He took his hand away from me.

“You’re sad and angry,” he said. “So, I’m not gonna take that personally.  I’m just here because I care, and I wanted to see if you needed anything. I’ll go, though.  Even an idiot can see when he’s not wanted.”

I suddenly felt a rush of anger toward Carlos.  I was the one who was in pain. He barely even knew Aisha, and here he was coming and making me feel… whatever it was I was feeling right now.  A whole lot of emotions. I hated him, and his stupid purple beanie, and his stupid gold chain, and the stupid tattoos on his stupid arms. And now he was fucking walking away from me.  So much for caring.

“So that’s it, huh?  Way to make me feel better,” I snapped.  He turned back to me.

“What do you want me to do, Boss?”

“You want to make me feel better?  What if what I need is someone to beat the shit out of?  Someone who won’t fight back?” I asked.

“You want me to find someone, or you want to beat the shit out of me?”

“What if what I need is someone to fuck me until I pass out?” I asked, instead of answering.

“Again,” he said.  “You want me to find someone, or you want to do it to me?  Whatever you need Boss. That’s how it’s always been.”

I thought for a moment, staring at my now room temperature drink.  Carlos would give me whatever I wanted, whatever he was capable of.  He had never let me down, not yet at least, and here I was taking all my anger out on him when I should be saving it for Jyunichi and the Ronin.  I tossed back the rest of my drink and stood up.

“Okay, Carlos.  Let’s put your offer to the test.”

_____

I had recently bought the penthouse in a hotel near the airport with the money that had started coming in after we destroyed the Sons of Samedi.  It wasn’t decorated yet, but it had a bed and a tv and a stocked bar and a pool. Most importantly, though, no one would be there.

Carlos took us there on his bike.  He knew what a terrible driver I was, and I didn’t mind not being in the lead for once.  I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my cheek against his back and let the wind fly through my hair.  He smelled nice, not that overpowering Axe body spray that most bangers seemed to wear. No, he smelled like sandalwood and amber.  He was solid to hold onto, as well, not soft, not skinny, but quietly powerful. I wondered why I had never noticed it before.

We didn’t talk on our way up to the penthouse, but once we got inside, the silence became awkward instead of easy.  I tossed him a can of cheap beer and took a seat on the couch.

“Okay, so you know lots about me, tell me something about you,” I ordered him.

“What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know, anything.  Tell me how you lost your virginity,” I said.  Immediately, I felt my face heating up. Why that?  Why did I ask him that? Why couldn’t I ask him something normal, like where he grew up, or what his favorite type of car was?  Truth was, I lived in the gutter in almost all aspects of life, and that wasn’t going to change now. To his credit, Carlos didn’t hesitate or look embarrassed.

“It was a birthday gift,” He said.  “My brother, the one you knew, didn’t want me ‘becoming a man’, as he said, without getting laid, so the day I turn 18 he hires a prostitute.”

“You lost your virginity to a sex worker?” I asked, impressed.

“No, almost,” he laughs. “He threw me this party, and I knew that afterward he’d send me off with the woman he’d hired, but I was so nervous.  I was afraid I’d be terrible, and the prostitute would be so offended that she’d go to my brother and demand extra on account of how bad I was.”

“Wait, you were afraid of being a disappointing lay...to a hooker?” I asked, astonished.  Carlos’s face flushed, and he let his head hang.

“Yes.  I figured, she had so much experience.  And I had none. And my brother thought that was terrible, so it must have been terrible.”

“Your brother was kind of an asshole, may he rest in peace.  So, what’d you do next?”

“I went next door.  There was a girl there, about a year older than me.  I was fairly certain she was a virgin.”

“How could you be certain?”

“She wasn’t… the hottest girl on the block.  And she didn’t have very many friends, so… I just assumed.”

“Wow, okay.  So you thought, let me practice on the ugly girl?”

“Yeah.  Looking back, it wasn’t the kindest thing I could have done.”

“How did it go?”

“Okay,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.  “She didn’t take much convincing. But she taught me the importance of foreplay.  And how to eat pussy.”

“So did you also fuck the prostitute?”  Carlos smiled in response.

“Yes.  And she said, and I quote, 'You weren’t as bad as I thought you’d be’.”

“Carlos, you dog!” I laughed.  Carlos smiled again, the corners of his eyes crinkling.  Then he finished his beer and sat down next to me.

“Okay, your turn,” He said.

“My turn?  No, I don’t think so.  My sexual debut is not a story that should be told in a casual setting.  I don’t want to ruin the mood.”

“Ok, I’m sorry,” he said, looking sheepish.

“Nah, it’s fine.  I came to terms with it a long time ago.  Maybe I’ll tell you some time, but not tonight.”

“Okay, how about your favorite experience?” He asked.  I nodded and smiled.

“I had a threesome with Aisha and Johnny,” I responded, then laughed when his eyes went big.  “Yeah, well, it was only technically a threesome. It was more like Aisha and I fucked while Johnny watched.”

“That… wasn’t what I expected,” he responded.

“Oh, and then there was this time I saved a waitress from being mugged, and she taught me shibari.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but it turned out I’m lazy, and I don’t want to spend all that time tying knots.  Don’t mind someone doing that to me though. It’s actually nice, not being in control, if you trust the person.  I’ve got a girl in Amberbrook I pay to tie me up sometimes.”

“You weren’t kidding about paying for sex,” he remarked.

“I know there’s a stigma,” I offered.  “But why not go to a professional. It’s like changing your car’s oil.  Yeah, you can do it yourself, or you can convince a friend to do it, but it’s so much more efficient to pay someone.”

Carlos nodded, and we lapsed into silence.  I stood up and walked to the pool, kicking my shoes off as I did.

“You like to swim, Carlos?”

“I don’t mind.  Especially when it’s an indoor, private pool,” he answered, looking appreciatively at the pool.  “How much did this set you back?”

“I don’t remember, actually.  I bought it on impulse. I’m not great with money.”

“So, you want to go swimming?” he asked.  I thought for a moment.

“No, actually, I want to play a game.”

_____

The rules of the game were simple.  I would say something sexual I’d done, and if Carlos hadn’t done it, he’d have to take off a piece of clothing.  If he had, I’d have to take off a piece of clothing. Then we’d switch places. The first one to be naked would be pushed into the pool.

“I’ve sucked dick,” I started.

“That’s a cheap shot,” Carlos responded, scowling as he took off his beanie.  He looked better without it. More refined.

“It’s not my fault you don’t swing both ways,” I responded.

“See, and I already know you’ve eaten pussy, so I’m not even going to try that one.”  He thought for a moment, and then his face lit up. “I’ve had my prostate massaged.”

“That’s not fair,” I protested.  “I don’t have a prostate.”

“I vote you take off your pants first,” he responded.  Defiantly, I took off my baseball jersey instead. Now we were both down to three pieces: pants and underwear both, then a beater for him and a bra for me.

“Okay, okay.  I’ve…” I weighed my options.  “I’ve done anal.”

“So have I,” he said triumphantly.

“As a giver or receiver?” I questioned.

“It doesn’t matter, you didn’t specify.”  I huffed, and pushed my pants down to my ankles and stepped out of them.

“Are you wearing men’s underwear?” he asked.

“NO,” I responded.  “They’re my underwear, I bought them.”  He smiled, his perfect white teeth lighting up his face.

“I’ve done fire play,” he said.

“What the fuck is fire play?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“It’s where you set someone on fire, but like in a safe, sexy way.”

“That’s not a real thing,” I said, crossing my arms.

“It is, it feels great, and I’m excited to see your tits.”  I narrowed my eyes and reached back to unhook my bra. I was suddenly nervous and self-conscious.  I hadn’t had nearly enough alcohol to make this easy. My breasts weren’t particularly small or pert, and they had stretch marks along the sides.  Sure, they looked great in a bra, with proper support, but hanging loose? Would Carlos still like them?

“I’ve had my tits tied,” I said, inspired by my own nakedness.

“Damn, you really like bondage,” he remarked, pulling his shirt over his head. “I’ll have to remember that.”

The muscles I had felt earlier were now on full display.  There was an elaborate tattoo splashed against his firm chest, but his abs were unmarked and well-defined.  I could even see his V, peeking out from the waistband of his jeans. I wanted to reach out and run my fingers over the lines, follow them down to what lay beneath.

“Boss?”  I snapped my eyes back to him.  “I said I’ve had sex in a cop car.”

“Who do you take me for?” I scoffed.  “I’ve had sex in a cop car, with a cop.”

“Like for fun, or to get out of being arrested?” he asked, unbuttoning his pants.

“ _¿Por qué no_ _los dos?_ ” I responded.  Now he was just in his underwear, too.  The front of his boxers was tented, his half erection pushing against the material.  I wondered how big it was, how thick it was, if it looked good, or if it was one of those angry purple cocks with a bulbous head and spindly shaft.  I hoped not.

“Last chance,” he said. “Get this wrong, and you’ll be wet and naked.”

“Who says I’m not already wet?” I asked, and his eyes immediately dropped to my panties, his face going slack with lust.  I didn’t usually like to lose, but this time I kind of did. I wanted to be at his mercy, to have him make the decisions, to have him take care of me, or toy with me, or whatever he wanted to do with me.  Being in charge came with life or death responsibilities, and for just one night, just one hour, I didn’t want any responsibilities. I said, “I’ve eaten pussy.”

He looked confused for a moment, then smiled and came toward me.  “If you don’t want to take them off, you don’t have to,” he said.

“I don’t?”

“No,” he replied, with a glint in his eye and an evil smirk on his lips.  His soft, kissable lips. “I can take them off of you for you.”

I studied him for a moment.  He wanted to give me what I wanted, I reminded myself.  All I had to do was get out of his way and let him. I nodded slowly.  He walked around me, until his chest was pressed up against my back, hooked his fingers into the waistband and slowly, painfully, pulled down.  They slid down my legs, and he followed them down, then slowly slid his hands back up as I stepped out of them. I could feel his breath on the back of my thigh, he was so close.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“If I tell you to do something, or to let me do something, will you trust me to keep you safe and take care of you?” he asked, then after a pause, added, “just for tonight.”

“Okay,” I said, having already decided to let him be in control tonight.  

_____

I don’t know where he found the rope.  I didn’t even know I had any in the penthouse.  But found it he had, and now it was wrapped around my ankles and securely holding my hands behind my back.

“If, at any point, you want out, just say so,” he told me for the third time.  “Like, you don’t have to explain yourself or nothing, just say red, and I’ll cut you free.”  
“Carlos, what have I done that would _ever_ give you the impression I would _ever_ feel the need to explain myself?” I asked.  He nodded his head, reassured, and tested the knots one more time.

He was still in his boxers, and I focused on refraining from telling him to take them off.  He was in charge right now. He ran the show. And if he wanted to torture me by staying covered, then that was his choice.  To be honest, it turned me on, being the only one naked. It also turned me on being tied up, and it turned me on that in a moment he would push me into the pool and I’d be helpless to escape.  I’d have to completely trust him to bring me to the surface before I ran out of air.

“Ready?”  He asked. I nodded.

“Are you sure?  Because once you’re in the water, you might panic.”

“Carlos, I’m sure.”

“I promise I won’t let you drown.”

“For fuck's sake, Carlos, just--” Carlos pushed me, violently, into the pool.

Whenever you're falling, it’s natural to start to flail.  The human body doesn’t like being unbalanced. However, when your hands and feet are tied, and you can’t flail, the body immediately panics. I tried to take a breath to calm myself but got a lung full of water instead.  I sunk to the bottom of the pool, thrashing as best I could, coughing and trying not to breathe in any more water. I felt like I was dying. This was it. This stupid moment of lustful recklessness would lead to my death.  This was as bad as dying of autoerotic asphyxiation. I was a thug, a gang banger. I should be dying in a shootout with the cops, not tied up naked in my own pool.

Then I felt a strong arm around my waist, and I was lifted out of the water.  Carols pressed me against him as I sucked in air. One arm held me tight to his chest, while his free hand pushed the hair out of my face.

“How was that?” He asked.  I wanted to say I hated it, that it was terrifying, and I would cut off his dick for doing it to me.  But now, pressed against him, I could feel the heat between my legs. I wanted him to do it again.

“Again,” I said.  He didn’t even wait for me to get a full breath before pushing me back under.  This time his hand was on my neck, and when I opened my eyes against the burn of chlorine, I could see him looking down at me.  My cunt spasmed in response.

This time, he left me under for longer, and since this time I didn’t immediately take a gasp of water, it took longer to get back to the place where I felt like I was dying.  After a few good involuntary thrashes, he brought me back up, still holding me by the neck, again pressing me to him and clearing the hair from my face. I could feel his erection against my ass, now free of his boxers, and I groped for it with my captive hands.  As soon as he realized what I was doing, he pushed me back under.

This time he pushed me all the way to the bottom and held me in place with his foot.  I opened my eyes again, and this time I could see all of him, including his cock, which he was starting to jerk off.  It wasn’t ugly, as I had feared, and had a thick shaft. I wasn’t good at estimating length but knew it was one of the larger ones I had had.

This time when he pulled me up, he gave me time to actually catch my breath.  Still, he pressed me against his chest, and his cock nestled between my thighs. The nearness of it was unbearable.  He tortured me further by kissing my neck and shoulder.

“How far do you want to go tonight?” he murmured in my ear.  The heat of his breath was maddening.

“I don’t want to be the one making that decision,” I said.  “I don’t want to be making any decisions tonight. I want..”

“You want me to be in control.”

“I need you to be in control.”  He bit my shoulder, lightly at first, then hard enough to make me moan.

“I need to know your limits,” He said.  “Everyone has them, and I don’t want to find out what yours are after I’ve already crossed them.  When you come back up for air, you better have them ready.”

He pushed me under again, holding me by the hair and pressing my face against his crotch.  I wanted to open my mouth and taste him, but the angle was all wrong, so instead I did as he’d instructed me, and when I came back up, I sputtered them out with my first breath.

“No body fluids.  Nothing that will leave a lasting mark, but bruises and hickeys are okay.  If you call me a bitch or a dyke or a whore, I’ll cut out your tongue, but if you call me a slut that’s good.  Don’t slap my face. Don’t make me answer any questions. Don’t go in my vagina after you’ve been in my ass, I don’t want a yeast infection.  And don’t leave me alone.”

“Does semen count as a body fluid?”

“On me it’s okay, but not in my mouth,” I clarified.

“Anything else, boss?” he asked, his hands roaming my back and stomach.

“Don’t call me boss again until the sun comes up,” I said.  

“Open your mouth, slut” he ordered.  He seemed a little hesitant about calling me that, and I smiled before doing as he asked.  He promptly stuck his fingers inside and down my throat.  I gagged on reflex, but he didn’t pull his hand away, so I gagged again.

“My fingers are going to stay until you either stop gagging or throw up, and it’d be a shame to ruin your pool.  You’re gonna have something bigger down your throat soon, so you’d better get used to it.” I concentrated on calming my throat, and once I stopped gagging, he withdrew his hand.  He wiped some smeared makeup from my cheek. “That’s better. Now time for the fun part.”

_____

He grasped me by the hips and slung me over his shoulder.  I was petite in stature, but packed with muscle, and not nearly as light as I looked, yet he lifted me with ease.  He carried me out of the pool and up the staircase, to where my bed was. I bounced with each step, but he kept me secure with a hand wrapped around one thigh.  His hand kept sliding higher on the journey until I was sure he could feel the wetness that had leaked down my legs.

When we got to the bed, he gently laid me on it, upside down, so my head was hanging off the ledge. Then he stepped back to admire the view.

“Anyone ever tell you how gorgeous you are, b-babe?” he asked.

“Nice save, _babe_ ,” I responded. “But most people know better than to make comments about my looks.”

He crouched down, so that our faces were mere inches away.  “If you’re not going to be appreciative of my compliments, then I’m going to have to find a better use for your mouth.”

I smiled at him.  He was trying to be hard and intimidating, but I knew him too well to believe he was anything but kind-hearted.  Sure, he would gun down anyone who got in our way, but he’d also stop to buy lemonade from kids in the neighborhood, and hold the door for little old ladies.  His tough talk was part of the game, and ultimately, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he could _show_ me he could dominate me.  

He stood up again and angled his hips so that his thick cock was rubbing against my cheek.  He experimented by slapping it against my face a few times, then rubbed the head against my lips and pressed his way inside my mouth.  He tasted salty, with a hint of chlorine, and that taste that every cock seems to have. He pressed in slowly until he was at the back of my throat, about halfway in for him.  I wanted to gag again, but relaxed and held it back. He pulled out, and then slid back in, still gently, still stopping at the back of my throat.

He began to thrust, taking his time to build up speed. Meanwhile, he began to explore my body.  At first, he just ran his hands up and down my torso, over my stomach and boobs. Then he grabbed them with both hands and squeezed, harder and harder, until I whimpered.  He let go and moved to my nipples, again squeezing until I whimpered. He seemed to be getting a feel for how much force I could take before I was in pain. He tried slapping them a few times and the pain felt good.  Cathartic. I wanted him to keep doing it, but my mouth was too full to speak. He, it seemed, had other interests, and his hands wandered down to where my legs met.

I knew I had been aroused since we started taking our clothes off downstairs, but to feel him confirm it sent a jolt of electricity.  His fingers easily slid through my slick folds and slipped inside of me. At the same time, his cock pushed past the back of my throat.  As he pulled out of my mouth, so, too, did he pull out of my cunt. His hand and his cock worked in synchronicity, each getting deeper with each thrust.  It was excruciatingly hot for me. My body couldn’t help but respond to his hands, but my mind was completely focused on what was in my mouth, working to breath around him, as he never came completely out of my mouth, and keeping my gag reflex in check.

My ankles were still tied together, but he forced my knees open as far as he could, and as he pushed his cock all the way down my throat, so that his balls rested on my nose, he brought his mouth down upon my clit.  The tension that had been building within me came to a climax, and he sucked and licked me through my first orgasm while I choked on his dick.

As my orgasm subsided, Carlos pulled away from me, crouched down next to my face, and stroked my hair until I had stopped spasming and caught my breath.  Then he kissed my forehead and whispered in my ear, “Good girl. Are you okay to go on?”

I couldn’t speak, so I just nodded.  He lifted me off the bed, then laid me back down on my stomach, my head facing away from him.  He raked his fingernails down my back, then dug them into the flesh of my ass, pulling the cheeks apart as he squeezed.

“You really have a beautiful ass,” he remarked.  “It was one of the first things I noticed about you, even though I shouldn’t have.  Following you out of the prison, all I could think was, you were laid up for two years, and you’re still thicc.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought of putting my hands on you, grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing.”  He demonstrated his fantasy, and I pushed my ass up and into his hands.

“Carlos, you telling me you’ve jerked off to my ass?” I asked playfully.  He responded by spanking me once.

“I didn’t say you could talk, _chava_ ,” he scolded, and spanked my other cheek.  They weren’t particularly hard hits, but they made my flesh tingle.  “If you can’t be quiet while I objectify you, I’ll have to punish you.”

I turned my face to look back at him, a smile on my face.  He had a grin of his own, as if he knew what I was about to do.

“Carlos, if you want me to be silent, you’re going to have to work harder than that,” I said.

“Oh, okay.  It’s gonna be like that, is it?”  I watched as he walked to my dresser, opened the top drawer, and pulled out two things: a rolled up pair of gym socks and thigh-high stockings.  “This is for your own good, you know,” he said as he pushed the socks into my mouth and used one stocking to tie the gag in place. “I know what kind of trouble your mouth can get you in.

He held the second stocking in his hands for a moment, then wrapped it tightly around my eyes, blindfolding me.  “That one’s just for fun.” Then my punishment began.

I hadn’t been properly spanked since I was a child, but this was nothing like that.  Carlos started off slow and light, rubbing the skin of my ass in between hits. He kept things even, alternating between cheeks, and seldom hit the same spot twice.  I relaxed into it. It felt nice. I should’ve expected more.

I started to notice that the slaps were getting harder.  They began to sting, to cause actual pain. It wasn’t so much that I cried out, or jerked away, but they were much more noticeable.  Then he stopped moving the spanks around and started hitting the same spot with every stroke. Even with him keeping the intensity steady, it would’ve started to really hurt, being hit in the same spot over and over again, but Carlos kept slowly increasing the force with which he hit me. Finally, I couldn’t hold back a cry as he slapped one spot for what felt like the hundredth time.  He stopped and rubbed the spot then kissed it.

“That’s it, _chava_. Let it out.  You don’t need to tough with me,” he said.  When he resumed spanking, I did as he said. I didn’t hold back.  I didn’t pretend it didn’t hurt. I sunk into the feeling, the pain, and let myself feel it for what it was.  I had done bare-knuckle boxing in an underground fight club, getting the shit beat out of me by dudes twice my size, and came through it without even grunting at the heaviest blows. But this, somehow, hurt more. Or maybe I felt it more.  Soon I was sobbing and jerking with every hit.

Instead of stopping completely, Carlos only slowed down, punctuating his spanks by grinding against me.  He let his cock rest between my cheeks as his hits got lighter and lighter. When he couldn’t take it any longer, he untied my ankles and pushed my legs apart, his fingers cupping my crotch, making sure I was still dripping wet.  I was.

He slid into me with a groan, and I moaned in response.  His hands dug into my hips as he pulled me against him. He felt so good inside me, filling and delicious. He pulled back slower than he had gone in, slipping out of me with a wet pop.  Then he pressed again at my entrance, letting just the head slip inside before stopping.

This time when he thrust into me, it wasn’t slow or gentle or tantalizing.  It was fast, and hard, and primal. He thrust into me with power, each time going as deep as he could, his hips slapping against my already battered ass.  This wasn’t a loving or gentle fucking. It was all raw energy and passionate violence, and it was exactly what I needed. I moaned into my gag and tried to thrust my hips up to meet him, but I had no leverage, trapped as I was between his pistoning hips, gripping hands, and the bed.  It was exquisitely painful, not like the spanking had been painful, but more concentrated and cathartic. Any thoughts remaining in my head were pushed out by the overwhelming sensations of being used like Carlos was using me.

My cunt was on fire, but on my stomach, my hands bound, I could find no release.  I needed to rub my clit, or have him rub it, or even grind it against him. Being denied was torture, and the longer I was denied, the more pressure built up inside me, so close to the edge, but never going over.  I could only moan and scream into my gag.

Just when I thought I’d die from the ecstasy, Carlos pulled out of me.  In rapid movements, he untied my hands, yanked off my gag, and turned me over.

“I’m sorry, I know you were enjoying that, but I really want to see your face when you cum,” he explained, slipping back into me.

“I thought you-” I began, but a deep, intense kiss cut me off.  Our first kiss, after he had been balls deep inside me for a good ten minutes.  I kissed him back, matching his ferocity. Our teeth scraped against each other, our tongues fought for dominance.  My hands went to the back of his head, my fingers latching onto his hair as my legs wrapped around him, trapping him to me.  He only broke away to breathe.

“Just because you’re not gagged, doesn’t mean you can talk,” he informed me, then captured my mouth with his again.  I smiled into the kiss, and he picked me up off the bed, setting me on his knees, still thrusting into me. I cried into his mouth as my clit finally found stimulation, grinding against his hips.  I took over the work of thrusting, my hips rocking against him, and built myself up to that climax I had been so desperately seeking.

This time, when it broke inside of me, I broke too.  I screamed, as spasms shook my whole body, and as I came down from it, my cries of ecstasy turned into real tears, and I collapsed against him, sobbing.  Carlos wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight to him, as he stroked my hair, whispering, “Shh, it’s okay, I got you,” over and over again.

Every emotion I had felt in the past three days, the shock of Aisha’s death, the panic of Johnny’s stab wound, the trepidation of waiting for the surgery to finish, and the grief of losing one of the few people I trusted rolled out of me in thick, hot tears.  It was an ugly, angry cry. It left my throat sore and my head pounding, and when the tears finally stopped, I was so exhausted, I could only hang limply in Carlos’s arms.

Carlos laid me gently on the bed, then walked in the direction of the bathroom.  I was suddenly very cold, as if all my heat had been expended. I was thirsty too, but I didn’t move. Couldn’t move.  Thankfully, when Carlos returned, he brought with him a glass of water and helped me sit up to drink it. Then he pulled the covers back, turned off all the lights, and laid down next to me, pulling me into his arms.

My head fit nicely on his chest, and while I was cold and shivering, Carlos radiated heat.  He pulled the covers over us, and lazily stroked my arm as I drifted off to sleep. I knew I should probably kick him out, lest he get any ideas about some greater meaning about our shared experience, but he made a really nice pillow.  And I was very tired.


	2. Bloody Breakdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boss needs a shower and some relief.

“Just lay him on the bed,” I instructed two of the burliest new Saints.  They set Johnny down on the black silk sheets as if he were an already cracked egg. In a way, he was.

“If I knew it would take getting stabbed to get in your bed, I’d have…” Johnny trailed off, his face pale.  Talking was clearly an exertion for him. “I’d have,” he tried again. “I’d have done…”

“You’d have what?” I asked.  “Stabbed yourself with one of Aisha’s nail files?”

“That would have hurt less,” he murmured, closing his eyes.  I turned to the group standing behind me. The grunts knew better than to hang around when they hadn’t been instructed to, but Shaundi, Pierce, and Carlos all crowded into the door of my bedroom at Purgatory.

“Shaundi, get some hot water and a washcloth.  He’s got blood on his face. Pierce, call that nurse you’ve been hooking up with.  Tell her to cancel her plans, then go get her.” I looked at Carlos but didn’t give him any instructions.  Then I turned back to Johnny and sat on the edge of the bed.

“What’s it gonna take to kill you?” I asked him, partially in jest.

“Me? You’re the one who's walking around after getting blown up,” he commented, not bothering to open his eyes.

“I have no memory of this happening,” I said.

“You were in a coma for five years,” he added.

“Mmm, nope.  Do not recall.”

“You woke up in fucking prison,” he pointed out.  I shook my head in mock confusion.

“No, I was in prison to recruit Carlos,” I explained, jerking my thumb in Carlos’s direction.  “And then we just walked out of there.”

“You’re a fucking liar, Boss,” Johnny finally said, too tired to keep arguing with me.  I smiled and kissed him firmly on the forehead.

“You can try reminding me again tomorrow, okay?” I asked.  He grunted in response, not even trying to push words out anymore.  I got up from the bed and headed for the door just as Shaundi came back in the room

“Carlos, you’re gonna drive me home,” I ordered him.

“You’re leaving?” asked Shaundi, her disbelief halting her in her tracks.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I snapped at her, my tone making it clear that I was not.  “It’s not like I just shot my way out of a hospital that was being invaded by Ronin, or anything.  I should definitely stay here, exhausted and covered in blood, and stare at Johnny while he sleeps.  That’s a great fucking plan.”

Shaundi had the good sense not to respond.  She pursed her lips and set about wiping the blood off of Johnny’s face, arms, and chest.  Carlos didn’t say anything but simply followed me to the elevator. I called Pierce on the way up.

“When you get back, take three or four guys and hang out in the parking lot tonight.  I don’t think they’ll try anything tonight, but you can never be sure. Those motherfuckers might be dumb enough to try to invade Purgatory.” I hung up and turned to Carlos.  “You got your bike?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll just go to the Red Light crib.  I don’t want to be too far.”

“You got it, Boss.”

_____

The crib in the Red Light district was the shittiest hole in the wall that ever claimed to be habitable.  It legally couldn’t be called an apartment, as it had no windows, no smoke detectors, and no locks. Yet, someone had decided to install a kitchen and a bathroom in that single, subterranean room.  I had been squatting in it since I broke out of prison.

As a hideout, in those first few weeks, it had been ideal.  It was a stone’s throw from the mission, it was in the basement of an abandoned building, and there was a Freckle Bitch’s close by, which meant I never had to do any cooking.  I had cleaned it out, brought in a real bed and a real couch, and put up waterproof curtains around the “bathroom.” It was still a shitty hole in the wall, but at least it was livable.

Ever since Purgatory’s renovations and the money had started flowing in enough for me to buy a place in almost every neighborhood, I hadn’t actually spent much time there.  Most nights, if it had an occupant, it was one of the Saints who couldn’t go home for one reason or another. There were more of those than I’d care for, but tonight it was empty.

Carlos walked me to the door, like a fucking gentleman, and then had the audacity to try and say goodnight, as if all I’d actually wanted from him was a bit of chivalry.

“Shut the fuck up and come inside,” I said.  “I’m not a lady, I could have walked.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, the confusion on his face redundant.

“It was a ruse,” I explained.  “So no one suspects.”

“Suspects what?” he asked.

“Are you for real?” Did I hallucinate us having sex?  Or was he just that clueless to my intentions? It was starting to piss me off. “You are going to go inside.  I am going to take off all your clothes. Then I’m going to fuck you so I can forget this fucking day ever happened.  You got a problem with that?”

“Oh,” he said.  “I had just figured what happened was a one-time thing.  I didn’t want to make assumptions.”

“Well, now it’s a two-time thing.  You in or you out?”

He nodded and followed me inside.  I immediately started taking off my clothes.  I had shucked my t-shirt and bra and was in the midst of stepping out of my pants and panties when I realized he wasn’t undressing.  “I wasn’t being literal, that I was going to take off your clothes. You can do it yourself.”

“I guess I’m just a little confused,” he explained instead.  “We never really talked about what happened.”

“So?  What’s to talk about?  I was sad. You made me feel better with your dick.”

“It was more than that,” he disagreed, shaking his head.  “You don’t cry, but you cried twice for me. You never show anyone when you’re sad, or scared, or even happy, really.  But you chose to be vulnerable with me. And then, since then, it’s like it never happened. I’m just a grunt again.”

He seemed put off by it, but I didn’t have the energy to coddle him.  I had blood in my hair, bad thoughts in my brain, and a fridge that was completely devoid of alcohol.  If he was going to make me hash out feelings and sentiments before I’d see any action, then I didn’t want him here.  

“I’m standing naked in front of you, my tits on full display, and you want to talk about feelings?” I couldn’t help the annoyance from creeping into my voice.  He looked at his feet, his cheeks going a bit red. “Look, I’m gonna get in the shower, so you can do one of two things. A, you can stop talking, take your clothes off, and join me.  Or B, you can leave before I get out. It’s up to you, but I’m done talking for the day.”

I turned away from him and pushed the curtain aside.  I could feel the rage coming off me in waves, and I knew I was barely holding it together.  I was angry at Johnny for almost dying twice. I was angry at the Ronin for fucking with us.  I was angry at Shaundi for questioning me. I was angry at everything, it seemed, and now I was angry at Carlos, too.  

I turned on the water and let it run over my hands until it was warm enough to stand under.  The spray had a somewhat calming effect on me, and my thoughts toward Carlos turned from anger to a kind of soft fear.  What if he did leave? What if what I was offering wasn’t enough? What even was I offering? He was right, after all. I did let him see a side of me I was determined to hide from everyone else.  He made it so easy to be vulnerable around him. He felt safe. But if he walked out the door instead of joining me, I’d… I’d be hurt. I’d want to hurt him. Any other man and I wouldn’t be in this position, but then, any other man would have never made it into bed with me in the first place.

I soaped up a loofa and scrubbed at my arms and face.  Then I poured shampoo on my hand and lathered my hair. It was long, halfway down my back, and thick, and working the lather through my tresses was a somewhat involved process.  Luckily, tonight, I didn’t have to do it myself.

I sensed him behind me before I actually felt his hands.  When he did touch me, he first ran his hands down my arms and kissed my shoulder.  Then his fingers found my scalp and he took over the work of massaging and detangling.  I let out a slow exhale of relief, closed my eyes, and relaxed for the first time all night.

“Turn around,” he said once my hair had been fully lathered and my scalp well massaged.  I did as he asked, and he rewarded me by pulling me close and kissing me. I melted into his kiss.  It wasn’t like it had been the first night, all hunger and violence. It was soft and tender, his tongue exploring my mouth lazily.

He pressed me closer to him, crushing my breasts against his chest, one hand stroking my hair as it rinsed, and the other latched on to one ass cheek.  I could feel his growing erection pressing into my hip, not yet fully hard, but definitely not soft. My own hands snaked around his neck and scraped my fingernails across his shoulders.  It was easy to let go of the tension while wrapped in his arms, with hot water beating down on us. It was easy to forget how angry I was at the world when I was consumed by his kisses.

Carlos grabbed my hair, holding it firmly in his fist, and pulled my head back so he could trail kisses down my neck.  They were soft, flitting kisses that made my skin tingle and my nerves electrify. Then he worked his way along my collarbone, and down between my tits.

“Carlos,” I murmured into his hair as he nipped and sucked at my breast.  

“Yes, Boss?” he asked before lightly biting my nipple. I moaned in answer, a moan that sounded like his name, but wrapped up in several layers of desire and lust.

“I’m sorry, could you say that again? I didn’t quite hear you,” he chuckled, then sucked hard on the nipple, forcing me to arch my back. I moaned his name a third time.

“Please don’t make me beg,” I pleaded, my hand reaching down between us to help hurry his erection along.

“What if I want you to beg?” he asked.  “What if I want you to ask for it again and again, so I get to hear it in your voice, how much you want me?”

“If I didn’t want you, you wouldn’t be here,” I pointed out.  “But if you have any doubts, you can check between my legs.”

He did as I suggested, keeping a hand in my hair as the other slid down my stomach and cupped my mound.  Then he slipped two fingers inside me, the way made easy by my arousal. I shuddered in pleasure as he curled the fingers inside me, rubbing against the cluster of nerves that was my g-spot.

“I’m still gonna make you beg for it, _chava_ , before I give you what you really want,” Carlos informed me.  “But for now, turn off the water and get on your hands and knees on the bed.”

I groped for the knob behind me without losing eye contact with Carlos.  As a lieutenant, he had a lot to learn. He wasn’t a great planner, and he second-guessed himself too much.  But he had always had balls of steel. He had to have, getting locked up and stabbed just to meet me. And those balls made him irresistibly demanding as a lover.  My body made it clear that his domination was exactly what it wanted. I practically ran for the bed.

On my hands and knees on the bed, facing away from him, I could only tremble in anticipation as he took his time approaching me.  Droplets of water dripped from my hair, my eyelashes, my nose, and the hair between my legs. He placed one hand on my ass, and my entire body flushed.  The longer he took just looking at me, then more electrified I felt, like I was on display for him.

“Are you just going to look at me all night, or are you going to do something?” I asked.  He punished, or perhaps rewarded, me with a sharp slap right between my legs, coming up hard on my clit.  I had never been spanked there before, but I instantly liked it.

“I already told you, you’re going to have to beg,” he reminded me.  I wasn’t quite desperate enough to do that yet.

“And if I don’t?” I asked.

“I’ll find a way to tease it out of you,” he responded.  “Now, put our head on the bed, so I can get a better view.”

I did as he told me, and he immediately grabbed both my arms, pulled them together behind me, and cuffed me.  

“Where did you get those?” I asked, trying futilely to keep the excitement out of my voice.

“Maybe I lifted them off a cop.  Maybe I swiped them while we were making our prison break.  Maybe I bought them from a sex shop. All you need to know is that the key is in my pants pocket, and it’s gonna stay there until I say otherwise.  Now, be quiet, or I’ll find something to keep you quiet.”

Both his hands returned to my ass, and he began to caress and stroke me.  He knelt down, and I could feel the heat of his breath on my sex as he played with me, keeping his hands skirting around my most sensitive areas.  He kissed the backs of my thighs, then the flesh of my butt, then asked, “Have you ever had your ass eaten?”

“Yes,” I responded, the question startling me.  “Once.”

“Did you like it?”

No, I didn’t.  The girl who had done it to me before had stopped almost as soon as she started, spitting out what she said was a bad taste.  It’s hard to get over someone saying you taste bad, especially after they had begged to be able to do it in the first place. I liked the idea of it, but it would sting worse if Carlos didn’t like it than it had with the girl.  Still, I found it hard to tell him no.

“I don’t think you’ll enjoy it,” I said instead.  It was true enough.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to tell me what I will and won’t like,” he rebuked.

“I just…” How did I say this without admitting I had had my feeling hurt over tossed salad?  “I don’t taste good.”

He took his hands off my ass, stood up, grabbed me by the hair, and yanked me up on to my knees, turning my face to look at him.

“Who the fuck told you that you don’t taste good?” he demanded.  I didn’t want to answer. It was already too embarrassing.

“Can’t you just trust me to know what I taste like?” I asked.

He leaned his forehead against mine and took a deep breath.

“No,” he said and pushed my face back down on the bed.  Then he put both hands on my ass, pulled the cheeks apart, and brought his mouth down on the puckered bud.  It felt wonderful and strange, his tongue circling the hole and gently pressing inside. If it had been my first time, I would have enjoyed it, but instead, I kept waiting for him to stop and spit and change his mind.  The longer it went on, the more trepidation I felt. The stimulation he gave me was exquisite, but it was tempered by my fear.

“Is it… okay?” I asked.  He kept doing what he was doing, ignoring me and eating my ass.  If anything, my question made him lick and suck and probe with more gusto, as if to show me exactly how much he was enjoying himself.  I tried to reassure myself. If I tasted bad, he would have stopped, right?

Finally, he pulled his mouth away with a wet smack, and his fingers replaced his tongue.  He stood, and while he pressed into my asshole with one finger, he laid his body along mine to growl in my ear, “You taste fucking delicious.”

I buried my face in the blanket to hide my smile.  His praise made me irrationally happy. If he said I tasted good, then I believed him.  He had no reason to lie.

Carlos worked his finger deeper inside me and then curled it around.  It didn’t feel stretched, and although it was strange, the sensations of his finger pulling in and out were pleasant and arousing.  He stuck a second finger in, and the muscles of my cunt contracted in response. Now I did feel stretched, but as he worked, my body adjusted, and the pleasurable sensations mounted.  I began to moan again.

After a while, he pulled out of me and walked toward the kitchen cabinets.  I heard him rummage around for a minute or two before coming back with lube I knew he’d find.  The lube, however, was not the only thing he found.

I heard the loud, jarring sound of duct tape being pulled from the roll and torn off.  Then he secured the piece over my mouth. Two more pieces, in an X configuration, and my ability to speak was gone.

“Sorry, _chava_ ,” he said, not sorry at all.  “But I don’t want your screams of pleasure to alarm anyone else in the building while I fuck you in the ass.”

I rolled my eyes, knowing he was aware of the building’s abandonment.  Still, not being able to talk just made me more aroused. Now I couldn’t beg even if I wanted to, which actually made me want to.  Anal was always nerve-wracking for me, especially that first thrust when my asshole was stretched tautly around a cock. I didn’t have it often, so there was pain mixed in with the pleasure whenever it did happen.  I would have to trust him not to be too rough or too fast, and being forced to trust him made my cunt ache with desire.

He placed the head of his cock at the entrance to my ass and pushed gently, not enough to go in, but enough to put pressure on me.  The excitement of what was to come made my legs tremble. I’d push back against him, but with my hands bound, I had no leverage. I’d beg him to go in slowly, but I couldn’t open my mouth.  So I just whimpered in anticipation.

He finally put enough pressure on my hole to break through the ring, aided generously by lube.  The head of his cock stretched me open in a way I hadn’t been stretched in a long time. He felt enormous, even though I knew he was only a fraction of the way in, and I had to struggle to relax, instead of clench. Still, it hurt a bit, but the good kind of hurt that makes the senses heightened and the pleasure more intense.  He pushed in agonizingly slowly, and I could feel every fraction of an inch as it pushed past the ring and into me.

When he had pushed in far enough that his hips rested against my cheeks, he paused, letting me get used to his size.  It was almost more tortuously tantalizing this way, like I was trapped there, impaled on his cock, imprisoned between his hips and the bed.  It evoked a carnal desperation in me, and I wanted to scream at him to fuck me, to thrust into my asshole, to use me for his pleasure. Instead, I just moaned, my lips as imprisoned as the rest of me.

Carlos began to move his hips, slowly at first, then with increasing speed.  The friction of his cock moving in and out of me sent jolts of electricity through my body, down my arms and legs and into my fingers and toes.  I couldn’t help but clench around him, and as I did heard his moan, too.

It was a filthy pleasure, having him inside my ass as my cunt dripped below, empty and unused.  It was overwhelming feeling him thrust in and out, his hips slapping against me, his fingers digging into my hips as his thrusts got harder and faster.  My body became like an instrument for him, my moans rising and falling in rhythm to his thrusts. The stimulation was unbearably intense, but I had no choice but to bear it,  and my moans became more like screams as the pressure within me grew.

“You like this, don’t you,” he said, his words punctuated by his own groans of pleasure.  “You like having my cock in your ass. You like being tied up and helpless. You like being at my mercy.”  His words were true, but hearing them come out of his mouth flooded my brain with endorphins.

“I could do whatever I wanted to you,” he continued.  “And you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. You can’t even say no.”  He reached under me to grab one of my tits, squeezing it and pinching at the nipple.  I whimpered in response.

“ _Dios mio_ , you feel so good.  Your ass is so tight around my dick.” His compliment pleased me, and I clenched around him, determined to make myself even tighter for him.

“I wish I could fuck you like this every night.  And eat you out for breakfast every day.” His fingers raked down my back, the nails digging into my skin, and no doubt leaving behind angry red marks.  

Unexpectedly, he pulled out of me completely and flipped me onto my back.  Then he reinserted himself into my ass, and callously ripped the tape off my mouth.  I cried out in pain.

“Now’s your chance, _chava_ ,” he told me.  “You wanna cum?”

“Yes,” I cried.

“Then beg for it.  Beg for me to make you cum.”  He licked his thumb and placed it lightly on my sensitive clit, but he didn’t rub it, instead waiting for my pleas.

“Please, Carlos,” I said.  “Please make me cum.”

“Mmm, I don’t know if I’m convinced.  Maybe you should beg harder.”

“I can’t…” I breathed, my mind struggling to function as I tried to move my clit against his thumb in time to his thrusts.  “I can’t take it. Please just let me cum. I’m so close, please rub my clit, please help me cum.”

Carlos finally relented and began to move his thumb on my clit, finding the bundle of nerves and rubbing it back and forth.  The pleasure built to a fever pitch inside me as my hips bucked of their own accord, no longer under my control. I was vaguely aware that my moans had turned to full out screams of pleasure.  Every movement he made sent me higher. I thought I would explode from the sheer ecstasy of it. Carlos slipped two fingers inside my cunt, and I lost it.

My body spasmed in orgasm, my back arching and my head snapping back.  Carlos kept rubbing, kept thrusting, pulling more and more of a climax out of me.  I could feel it in my toes, and the tips of my fingers, and the skin of my lips. I had come apart at the molecular level, my atoms stretching to infinity in every direction.  I was a volcano. A hurricane. A supernova.

When I finally came back to my senses, Carlos had stilled, waiting for the last of my convulsions before extricating himself.  I wished that he could just stay inside me forever, but he didn’t. Instead, he retrieved the handcuff key from his jeans, rolled me onto my stomach, and released me.  My arms flopped at my side. I didn’t have any strength left to move them. Carlos left me again, then returned with a warm washcloth and gently cleaned me.

“You want me to stay the night?” he asked, rubbing my back.  I finally lifted myself into a sitting position and looked at him.

“You can, but you don’t have to,” I told him.  “I want you close to Purgatory, and this is as good a place as any, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay and cuddle, or tuck me in, or any shit like that.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, shrugging.  “You don’t kick or steal the covers, and cuddling can be nice.”  He tucked an errant, wet strand of hair behind my ear. “Besides, if I’m here, then you don’t need to call me if something goes down.”

I nodded. His logic was sound, but I didn’t know if I was pleased or not with his decision to stay.  On the one hand, I slept very well, all things considered, the last time he had been in my bed. On the other hand, I didn’t want this to become a habit.  Sex was already dangerous territory, and I didn’t want to fall into the trap of relying on his company or expecting him to always be there to comfort me.  Not to mention, the nature of our sexual exploits already put tension on the boss/lieutenant relationship hierarchy, and I was afraid if I let him spend too much time with me outside of our established roles, it would be harder for him to revert back to being subordinate.  And then I’d have to punch him in the face. His beautiful, gentle face.

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” he asked.  I stared at him for a moment.

“What?”

“Do you want me to braid your hair?  I can, you know. And it’ll keep it out of your way better.”  I stared at him, unsure what to make of his offer.

“How do you know how to braid hair?”  I asked.

“I have a little sister,” he explained.  “And she has a daughter. It’s a skill you pick up when you’re around women a lot.”  

I wouldn’t know.  I had never spent much time around other women, except when I was trying to get in their pants.  Lin and Aisha were really the first real relationships I had had with another woman that wasn’t about sex.  Carlos might know how to braid hair, but I didn’t. The thought of it was nice, and I couldn’t deny I liked having his fingers in my hair.

“Okay,” I said.

When he had finished, I had two neat dutch braids that hung down my back, and I had somehow found myself between his legs, leaning comfortably against his chest.  His heart beat steadily under my ear, and his strong arms were wrapped around me, cocooning me in his warmth.

“Was the talking okay?” Carlos asked, breaking the silence.

“Like, the dirty talk, you mean?” I asked.

“Yeah.  I thought it might be, I dunno, erotic, or something.  But now I think, maybe it was cheesy?” I could hear his heart speed up slightly.

“I liked it,” I said.  “It fit the mood.” Carlos released a breath I didn’t know he’d been holding.  I looked up at him, smiling. “Of course, if you ever said any of that shit when you weren’t balls deep in my ass, I’d probably shoot you.”

He laughed at my threat.  “Oh, I know. I’m not crazy.  I can keep my mouth shut. First rule of being a gang banger.  Snitches get their bodies dumped in the river. I figured, for you at least, sex is the same as business.”

“See, that’s why I keep you around, Carlos,” I said, settling my head back on his chest.  “No one needs to tell you what the rules are.”

He tightened his arms around me, then groped for the blankets to pull over us.  I relaxed and listened as his breathing deepened until he was asleep. Sleep came slower for me.  Being in Carlos’s arms was more comfortable than I could possibly describe, and I wanted to soak it up. I was perfectly content and knew that I could never let him back in my bed again.


	3. Mourning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos can save Boss from the police, but can he save her from herself? Does she even need to be saved?

I let Johnny put the last shovel full of wet dirt on Shogo’s grave, his screams inaudible now that he was 6 feet under.  Burying him had been cathartic. So had slaughtering 17 of his closest companions. Shogo was going to die screaming, probably in his own filth, and he deserved it.  It was a coward’s death for a cowardly man.

At least Jyunichi had met his death with dignity, in a face to face fight.  But Jyunichi had been an honorable man. He had killed Aisha, yes, but he had done so quickly, without torment, and in the end, he died as he lived, by the sword.  Shogo, however, had no honor when he ordered Aisha’s death, and had no honor when he showed up to Aisha’s funeral, and so would die with no honor, alone, gasping for breath, in someone else’s coffin.

Johnny threw the shovel down on Shogo’s soon to be grave, right under a tombstone that read Martha Cosgrove, sister and daughter.  I didn’t feel guilty for jacking her grave.  Her family couldn’t even muster enough to put beloved on her grave  marker, so what did I care if they found themselves mourning over someone else’s dead body?  No one would ever know Shogo was here, except me and Johnny, and maybe a few other Saints, and I couldn’t have wished upon him a more fitting eternity.

“You wanna take a piss on it?” I asked Johnny.  “For the symbolism.” He smiled, but shook his head no.

“I’m not saying I won’t come back and do that later,” he explained.  “But I think my stitches busted while digging, and I need to lay down.”

I put my arm on Johnny’s back to let him know that he could lean on me if he needed, but he was too stoic to do anything but walk to the parking lot on his own.  When we got there, I saw my car was a burning hunk of metal, having been torched by a grenade thrown in the fight, and we were not alone.

“What are you guys still doing here?” I asked Shaundi, Pierce, and Carlos, who were all huddled under Pierce’s umbrella.  Carlos and Pierce looked at Shaundi, silently volunteering her as spokesperson.

“We just wanted to make sure you two go home alright,” she said, shrugging.  Johnny let out a big breath, and pulled Shaundi out into the rain and into a big bear hug.  Such a show of affection was unusual for him, and was a sign of the emotional damage that had been inflicted upon him since… since Aisha died.  Shaundi hugged him back just as tightly. It was the closest Johnny would ever get to saying thank you, or that he was grateful for them. I tried to smile at Pierce and Carlos, but it came out as more of a grimace.  Still, Pierce nodded in response. Carlos just looked at me, his beautiful brown eyes full of commiseration.

“Well, my car’s busted,” I finally said, putting an end to the moment of sentimentality.  “So who’s driving?”

“Pierce drove,” Shaundi responded, releasing Johnny and stepping back under the umbrella.

“Yeah, but uh…” Pierce confirmed.  “It only fits four.”

“That’s fine,” I said, jumping at the chance to be alone.  “You three take Johnny back to Purgatory. I’ll find my own way home.”

“No, we’ll call a cab or something,” Shaundi protested.

“I can get myself home,” I responded, my tone warning her not to push this. “Take care of Johnny.” Then I walked off, unwilling to entertain further arguments.

______

Stillwater was quiet when it rained.  Or maybe it was just the white noise of rain muffling all other sounds.  Either way, it was easy to tune out the whole city on my walk back to Purgatory.  One of the benefits of being a gang boss was that people were less likely to accost me on the street, and I could get lost in my thoughts.  Or not think, as it were. Without Shogo around to call the shots, any coordinated attack was unlikely. Yes, there was still Shogo’s father, the real head of Ronin, to deal with.  And The Brotherhood was still at large, having benefited from my recent fixation with the Ronin. But I owned half the neighborhoods in the city, and more and more people were wearing purple these days.  If someone did try to start shit, though, I had an SMG tucked under my blazer.

It wasn’t until I ducked into an alley to do a tag that I suspected someone was following me.  I had been vaguely aware of a few other people on the sidewalk around me, but when I came back out of the alley, I noticed the person who had been leaning against a building back up the street behind me was still there.  The rain was too heavy to make out many details, or even what colors the figure was wearing. I turned away from them, following along my original path, eased the SMG out of my jacket, and flipped the safety off.

I waited until the end of the block, then tucked myself behind the corner.  Even in the rain, I could hear the footsteps approach. As they got closer, I prepared myself, and right as they reached the corner, I launched myself at them, knocking them down.  I planted my knee into their stomach, put the barrel of my gun under their chin, and looked into the face of…

“Troy Bradshaw?” I exclaimed, looking at the pale face of a man I hadn’t seen since before I had gotten blown up.

“What’s up, Playa,” he responded, as nonchalantly as he could with my body weight pushing the air out of him.  “You wanna get that gun out of my face?”

“Definitely not,” I said, putting a little more pressure on the barrel.  “What’s Stillwater’s Chief of Police doing stalking the boss of the Saints?”

“Let me up, and maybe I’ll tell you,” he offered.  I pushed off of him, getting to my feet, but kept my SMG trained on him.  He got to his knees slowly. Five years in charge had made him less agile than I remembered him.  I guess a body gets soft when all it does is sit at a desk or look into a camera. I made a mental note to never let that happen to me.

“How you doing?” he asked, as if we were old friends.  As if he wasn’t a blue-coat traitor.

“Why are you following me?” I asked, emphasizing each word in turn.  He sighed.

“I was at the funeral,” he answered.

“Why?”

“You forget, I knew Aisha too.  I kept an eye on her, back when Johnny was in prison.  But I knew better than make myself known.”

“So you just watched as the Ronin tried to massacre us?” I pressed.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he said, raising a hand in his defense.  “You handled them just fine. Shogo has a lot of firepower, but not a lot of sense.  Or tact. Or skill.”

“So you wanted us to take them out for you, is that it?” I asked.

“Well, you know.  The devil you know.”  He put his hands in his pockets.  “What’d you end up doing with him?”

“I ain't telling you shit,” I snapped.  Troy, for his friendly face, was now the enemy as much as anyone else.  Maybe he had always been the enemy. He exhaled in disappointment.

“You know, change is coming, Playa,” he said.  “Stillwater’s days as a gangland are limited. We’re moving up.”

“Gentrification?” I asked.  “Like what’s happened to the Row?  That Ultor monstrosity? You think that’s the future?”

“Ultor’s got a lot of money,” he explained.  “And gangs, poverty, places like Shivington, like the Row used to be… well, that’s bad for business.  You can’t fight a giant corporation like that.”

“Are you...trying to warn me?”

“Just letting you know what’s coming.  I figured I owed you.”

“Fuck off, Troy.  I don’t give a shit about Ultor.  They’re just rich white fucks that don’t give a shit about people like me, and they definitely don’t know how to handle me.  You might have your balls tied by them, but I never will.”

“I miss when you didn’t talk,” he said.

“I miss when you weren’t a cop.”

“I was always a cop.”

“Then maybe I don’t miss you.”  The rain had lightened, and I could see how old and tired he looked. I could also hear sirens in the distance.  They were getting louder.

“Mutherfucker,” I whispered, my voice icy and sharp, stepping close to him and pressing the SMG into his temple.  “You trying to take me it? You think you can?”

“It’s just a bit of insurance,” he responded.  “To make sure we both walk away tonight.”

A motorcycle came barreling down the street and came to a screeching halt next to us.  Carlos. “Boss, let’s go!”

I reluctantly stepped away from Troy and hopped on behind Carlos.  He peeled away from the police chief as flashing red and blue lights came into view.  We were gone before they could catch us.

_____

The university loft was the closest crib I had, so Carlos took me there instead of all the way back to Purgatory.  If I wanted to go anywhere else, there were enough cars around that I could drive myself. I knew it would be empty before we had even pulled up, all the Saints being at Purgatory, having what I imagined was a really shitty reception.  

I didn’t wait for Carlos to park before hopping off and going inside.  I didn’t really need him to stick around, and I wasn’t really in the mood to make him feel welcome.  He followed me inside anyway, finding me with my feet propped on the coffee table, flipping through channels.

“You need anything, Boss?” he asked.  He needed to work on his subtlety.

“Nope,” I replied, not even looking at him.  He didn’t take the hint.

“I could fix you a drink, or something,” he offered.

“I’m not thirsty.”

He awkwardly made a loop of the apartment, then came to sit on the opposite end of the couch from me, his back stiff and upright even as he tried to look relaxed.  I finally settled on a cartoon about space mercenaries or something.

“How’d you find me?” I asked after several minutes of silence.

“I was already out looking for you,” he explained.  “Then I heard some police chatter. Figured what route you were on, and drove really fast.  Seems I was just in time.”

“Why were you out looking for me?”

“Gat’s orders.  I don’t think he liked the idea of you being on your own.”

“I’m on my own all the fucking time,” I protested.  “Why should tonight be any different?”

“ _No se_ ,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Maybe he’s mourning, and he wants to make sure his best friend is okay.”

I turned to look at Carlos, my eyes narrowed.  Johnny wasn’t an emotional or sentimental person. In fact, he had exactly two emotion: murderous glee and murderous anger.  But if anything would make him concerned about another person, it would be the pain of losing Aisha. It was a plausible explanation, but I still didn’t trust it. “And you were just so happy to volunteer, is that it?”

“Yeah, well, maybe I wanted to make sure you were alright, too,” he said, his coffee-colored eyes boring into me.

“You mean, you wanted to see if I was emotionally fucked up enough to fuck you tonight,” I translated.  His brow knitted, and he leaned away from me, frowning.

“Not everything has to be about sex,” he said.

“Everything in life is about three things,” I said.  “Sex. Money. Power. And money and power are just ways to get sex.”

“Maybe for you.  But other people have different priorities.  Other people can look at someone and see them for who they are, not what can be taken from them.”

“I think you’ve been spending too much time at church, Carlos,” I muttered.

“Yeah, well, someone’s gotta ask forgiveness every time you run over an innocent jogger because you can’t be bothered to stop at crosswalks.”

I turned to look at him, startled, only to see him staring pointedly at the TV, his arms crossed in front of him, his shoulders hunched.

“First of all,” I began.  “There’s no such thing as an innocent in this city.  And second of all, jogging is a crime that should be punishable by death.”

“There’s lots of innocent people.  Not everyone is a gangbanger.”

“Sure, and the ones that aren’t happily work for a system that keeps the poor desperate enough to commit crimes.  Like pimp their daughters, or turn their sons into drug mules. So you either play the system, or you fuck the system up.  I choose to fuck it up.”

Carlos shook his head.  “I’m all for fucking up the system, but what’s the point if life doesn’t get better for people?”

“Look around, Carlos.  Life is better for us.”  I gesture at the enormous flat-screen TV, the stripper pole, the fully stocked kitchen.  “Because of me, there’s now 50 kids that can come here to eat, sleep, shower. They’ve got good clothes, good cars, and they stick around long enough, they’ll probably get to have houses of their own one day.  I’m building up this city. Not tearing it down and crushing everyone who lived in it.” My thoughts wandered back to Ultor, and my rain-soaked conversation with Troy. “I uplift the downtrodden, and if a couple middle-class joggers are taken off the street, that’s just the cherry on the sundae.”

“I just think you should be a little more careful about collateral damage,” he finally said, uncrossing his arms.  I wanted to shake him. What kind of gangbanger was he, with this bleeding heart? How could he care so much about people he didn’t even know, people who probably gave less than two shits about him?  Maybe he really did wander the streets tonight just to make sure I was okay. If that was the type of guy he was, what could he possibly see in a hot-blooded killer like me?

“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth.  “I’ll try to run over fewer pedestrians.”

He turned to look at me, surprise written on his face.  “I didn’t think you’d actually listen to me.”

“Yeah, well, I killed a lot of people today, so I’m in a fairly good mood,” I said, then stood up.  “Now, you gonna take your pants off so we can fuck or you gonna sit there and come up with another morality lecture for me?”

“I thought you didn’t want to,” he said, tentatively rising to his feet.

“Did I say that? No.”  I walked purposely toward the stairs.  “Don’t forget to lock the door.”

By the time Carlos climbed the stairs, I was completely naked and posed seductively on the bed. He stopped at the top of the landing and took in the view, subconsciously licking his lips.  The way his eyes raked over me, perusing my form from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, made me feel like I was under a spotlight.

“Eventually we’re gonna have to talk about what this is,” he said, his eyes having a hard time choosing a spot to rest.

“ _This_ is just good cheap fun,” I responded, opening my legs to give him a better view.

“Are you calling me cheap?” he asked, taking slow steps toward me.

“No, I’m calling myself cheap,” I joked.  He didn’t seem to find it funny, his eyes snapping to mine.  He closed the distance between us quickly, hooked his hands under my thighs, and dragged me to the edge of the bed, kneeling down as he did.

“You are not cheap,” he said, following each word with a kiss to my inner thigh that crept closer to my vulva.  “You are the most precious, worthy, valuable woman I have ever met.”

His words felt like cold stones in the pit of my stomach.  My joke had been made without thought, to lighten the mood, but he had responded as if my words were the most unfathomably offensive assessment he had ever heard.  I almost pulled away from him. It didn’t feel right, him putting such a high price tag on me. I knew my worth. Hell, I had pulled the Saints from the ashes almost single-handedly.  But coming from him, it felt weightier. Like he was putting me on a pedestal. One I wasn’t sure I wanted to be on. I needed to lighten the mood, or I needed to kick him out.

“Fuck, what am I?  A gemstone or a person?” I asked.

“Let’s find out,” he suggested, looking me dead in the eyes as he lowered his mouth on my clit.  His mouth made my cunt ache and clench in pleasure. I snatched the beanie from his head and threw it as hard as I could.  He pulled himself away to watch it sail over the railing and down to the first floor. Then he looked back at me and said, “I’m gonna punish you for that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I responded, smiling devilishly as I ran my fingers through his hair and pushed his head back down between my legs.  “After you eat me out.”

Carlos went to work with gusto.  He knew exactly when to flick, to suck, to nip, to lick, to bring me to the edge, moaning and clutching his hair.  My hips started to buck against his face, desperate for more. He responded by slipping two fingers inside me, curling them against my g-spot.  From there, I didn’t last long, and I came screaming Spanish vulgarities.

Carlos let me settle, the last of the spasms dying out as he pulled his shirt over his head and pushed his track pants and boxers to the floor.  I enjoyed seeing him naked, his lithe, taut body looming over me and his cock standing firm and hard. He smiled at me, a smile that was both devilish and endearing.

“I hope you enjoyed that,” he said, kneeling on the bed and straddling my body.  “Because it’s the only one you’re getting tonight.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my arms trapped to my sides by his thighs.

“I told you I’d punish you,” he reminded me.  “Or did you think I forgot?”

“So I don’t get to cum anymore?” I asked, my mind racing.  “How you gonna stop me, if you’re still planning to fuck me?”

“Oh, I have my ways,” he responded, taking a breast in each hand and squeezing them around his cock.  He held them tightly and slowly rocked his hips back and forth. My breasts didn’t completely envelop his cock, but they came close.  He spit twice, giving himself enough lubricant to slip easily between them. He watched as the head of his cock peeked out from between them with each thrust.  I watched his face, enraptured by the look of ecstasy etched on his features. When his eyes closed in pleasure, I felt a surge of pride knowing it was me who gave him that pleasure.

“Let my arms free, and I’ll hold them together for you,” I suggested.  He nodded but didn’t slow his thrusts.

“It feels so good,” he said.  “I don’t want to stop.” He thrusted three more times before he was able to stop himself, then gave me just enough room to pull my arms out from under him before replacing his hands on my tits.

With his arms free, Carlos was able to rest his weight on his hands, giving him the leverage to thrust even faster between my breasts.  With each stroke, his moans of pleasure were drawn out. His voice, reaching out in pleasure, was sweet music. I could see and hear as he got closer to the edge, closer, his brow knitting, and his mouth hanging over in a perfect ‘O’.

He came noiselessly, his head thrown back in a silent cry.  His cum coated my neck and chin and pooled at the base of my throat.  He collapsed and rolled off of me onto his back, breathing heavily.

“Fuck, that was intense,” he said, staring up at the ceiling.

“Better than the first two times?” I asked.  I was flattered my tits were that arousing, but I thought the other parts of me would have also driven him wild.

“It’s the first time I’ve finished with you,” he said, turning to look at me and finding a lock of hair with his outstretched arm to play with.

“What?” I asked.  The way he phrased it made it seem like…

“I didn’t cum the last two times.”

“What the fuck, Carlos?  Why not?” He shrugged in response.

“The last two times it wasn’t about me,” he explained, rolling on this side to better look at me.  “It was about giving you what you needed. My needs weren’t that important.”

My brain felt like it was glitching out.  Like I was turning the key, but the engine wouldn’t start, and just kept turning over in a never-ending loop.  What kind of hot-blooded latino held back like that? It was completely self-less and deeply unsettling and I had no idea how to respond to it.

“I need to clean up,” I said, because I could think of nothing else to say.  

Carlos jumped to his feet and said, “Got it,” before rushing off to the bathroom.  He came back with a warm, wet washcloth and wiped my neck and chest clean. Then he looked at me and asked, “I could go a second round, if you’re up for it?  Maybe I'll let you cum this time.”

Instead of answering, I got to my feet and started pulling clothes out of my dresser.  Black yoga pants and a sports bra with a zip-up hoodie throw over it would be enough.

“You know, I would love to,” I lied, getting dressed.  “But I’ve got things to do at Purgatory.”

“It’s like, Midnight,” he pointed out.

“Bangers don’t keep banker’s hours, Carlos.  I’ve gotta organize patrols, order ammo, mediate whatever argument Shaundi and Pierce are inevitably having, plus I haven’t worked out in like three days and I can feel my muscles getting smaller.”

“Okay,” he said, still sitting naked on the bed, his face a mask trying to hide the disappointment and confusion he was feeling.  “You want me to drive you?”

“Nah, I got it.  You stay, rest, order some pizza.  I’ll text if I need anything.”

“Okay,” he said again, and I walked away, trying really hard not to turn and look at him.  

As soon as I closed the front door behind me, I pulled out my phone and dialed it as I walked to the nearest car on the block.  Johnny answered as I was stripping the wires to hot-wire it.

“You drunk?” I asked.

“A little,” he said, sounding completely sober.

“You wanna meet at Purgatory and do some practice shooting?  I need to shoot things.”

“I’m already there,” he said.


	4. Tattoos and Explosions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boss celebrates the fall of the Ronin and sets her sights on the Brotherhood.

I liked sword fighting.  There was something exquisitely personal about being able to look the fucker in the eye as you pierce his body, feel his flesh give way to the sharp steel, red streams of blood flowing from the puncture wound. Nevermind that I had to shoot him first before I could stab him.  However, I could have done without being flipped on my ass by an octogenarian three times before my bullet found its mark. I was almost glad I got to fight Akuji on a burning ship, far from the eyes of anyone who would judge.

I could feel the heat rise around me as I twisted my sword in the old man’s body.  Akuji was dying, and with him, the Ronin. I briefly wondered if he would be reunited with Shogo in the afterlife.  I hoped so. I always got the impression that the old man hated his son.

“When I escape, the world will not be big enough for you to hide in,” he croaked, his voice wet and raspy, like I had punctured his lungs.

“Luckily for me, you’re gonna burn to death in a few minutes,” I responded, trying to keep the smoke-induced hoarseness from my own voice.  With the way the ship was creaking, he probably didn’t even have that much. Which meant neither did I. I stepped up on the railing, and said, “Your son never should have fucked with my friends.”  Then I flung myself overboard, the heat of the burning ship giving way to cool air before I plunged into the icy depths of the sea.

The ship exploded as I hit the water, a dozen small booms tearing the old rig apart.  I felt the hot wave of water wash over me, the wave created by the explosions bringing a large piece of flotsam to strike me in the back. I could feel myself sinking, being dragged down with the wreckage, and kicked hard.  My boots were weighing me down, so I kicked them off. I shredded my jacket, too, unwilling and unable to fight against the waterlogged fabric as I tried to make my way to the surface. My lungs burned, desperate for air, desperate to break through roiling water around me. I kicked and paddled as hard as I could in the direction I hoped was up, ignoring the ache in my muscles, thinking of nothing but breathing the cool air that waited just a little farther up.

I broke through the surface.  I sucked in as much air as my lungs could hold.  It was a mistake. The air wasn’t cool at all. It was thick and heavy with smoke from the burning wreckage around me.  Instead of oxygen, I filled my lungs with ash and smoke, the unbearable press of heat crowding me on all sides. This was how I would die.  Burned to death in the sea.

I couldn’t help but keep gasping for air, but without an influx of oxygen, my limbs rebelled against my brain, transforming into lead weights that pulled me below the water again.  This was how I would die. Drowned under a bonfire.

I pulled myself back up to the surface, unsure of whether I would rather die from filling my lungs with water or smoke.  The roaring of the fire beat at my ears, so loud I couldn’t even hear my own coughing and sputtering. The full, deep, prolonged cry of the dying ship layered itself around me, coming from a dozen floating piles of hull, until one thin, higher-pitched roar came barreling toward me.

A bright yellow Shark came to a stop beside me, the figure riding it reaching down and hauling me out of the water by my arm.  He dragged me across his lap, then shouted at me to hold on tight as he sped and maneuvered around piles of flames. I looked at the legs of the figure.  Purple track pants. Carlos.

How had that motherfucker found me, again?  As far as I knew, he wasn’t even anywhere near the marina when shit hit the fan, and if I didn’t call him in for backup, then who did?

We left the burning, sinking ship behind, and I could breathe again.  Carlos brought the small watercraft to a stop and awkwardly helped me into a sitting position only _almost_ dumping me back into the water.  I had soaked him, his white A-shirt see-through enough that I could easily make out the tattoo splashed across his chest.  I stared at it while I let my lungs remember how to take in oxygen and expire carbon dioxide. Or was it carbon monoxide? God, Carlos was warm.  He was always warm. And he was soft, too. Soft enough to rest my head on his chest, which rumbled as he tried to talk to me. Were we moving again?  If I never moved again, it would be too soon. It got really dark all of a sudden. No, I had just closed my eyes for a moment. Oh god, now someone else was trying to talk to me.  Why couldn’t I just sleep? Someone was trying to rock me to sleep, and it would be rude to waste their efforts. Now if only those voices would just stop.

“What, what?” I practically shouted, jerking upright and away from Carlos.

“I said, do you need help getting off the Shark?” Johnny said, slowly and patronizingly.  We were back at the docks. The Shark was bobbing with the tide. Johnny was standing at the edge of the pier.  The Coast Guard was gathered around the remains of the Junk Boat in the distance. I was still half draped over Carlos.

“No, fuck you, I’m fine,” I snapped at them both.  To prove myself right, I attempted to stand up on the Shark, swing my leg over Carlos’s head, and launch myself at the pier, all at the same time.  Unfortunately, my legs couldn’t quite hold my weight, one foot got caught in Carlos’s shirt, and while I did successfully make it onto the pier, I did so face first.  I rolled onto my back to stare up at the evening sky.

Carlos exited the watercraft with significantly more grace.  His legs held him just fine, and he had the good sense to separate his movements into discrete steps, instead of trying to do them all at once.  Show-off. He landed lightly, with hardly a sound, and then joined Johnny in looking down on my prone figure.

“Johnny, carry me,” I whined, stretching my arms up towards him.  He looked down at me with reproach.

“Your legs aren’t broken, you can fucking walk,” he snapped back.

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna,” I said, pushing out my lower lip in an exaggerated pout.  “I carried you out of the hospital.”

“You did not carry me out of the hospital, you fucking liar,” he said, crossing his arms.  “You had a gurney. And I was dying. Make Carlos carry your fat ass.”

I pushed myself to a sitting position before retorting. “I am 100% muscle and bone, jackass.”

I climbed the rest of the way to my feet, not looking at Carlos.  He probably would have carried me, but I didn’t want him to think I needed him.  The effort of standing brought on a coughing fit, and I doubled over, coughing up sea water and ash.  Okay, so I was also maybe 10% hell-water.

“Where’s Wong,” I asked when the spasms in my lungs had subsided.  It came out as more of a croak, and my throat hated me for the effort.

“Shaundi took him to his hotel,” Johnny responded.  “The old man had too much excitement, I guess. When the last of the Ronin ran off, I sent Pierce to get a car.  If you can make it back to the parking lot, he’ll drive you home.”

“No, I don’t want to go home,” I said.

“You got better plans than letting your body fucking heal,” Johnny asked, making his own opinion clear.

“Oh, yeah,” I responded, smiling up at him before convulsing into another coughing fit.

_____

“Isn’t this a better plan,” I asked, looking over my shoulder at Johnny.  Neither of us were wearing pants.

“It’s definitely a better plan for me,” he responded, looking back and forth between my thighs and his.  “I’m still not convinced you won’t die.”

“If I die,” I said, gazing fondly at the emerging design on my skin, “I’ll die with the sickest tattoo I’ve ever seen.” The tattoo artist working on my leg smiled but didn’t take her eyes off her work.  She had designed the art for me, and I had no problem complimenting her on it. It was beautiful.

“What do you call it again?” Johnny asked, checking to make sure that the artist working on his leg was matching the design on mine stroke for stroke.

“The Fall of the Ronin.”

“And you already had the design, before we finished them off?” he asked.

“I had this baby whipped up the day after that shit went down with Jyunichi,” I explained.  It was actually the sight of his own sword sticking out of his neck that inspired the design.  “I knew we’d destroy them, and I knew you’d jump at the chance for us to have matching tattoos.”

“I wouldn’t say I jumped,” Johnny protested.  He was sort of right. After sending Carlos off with Pierce to do something far away from me, Johnny had just shrugged in agreement, not jumped.  But for Johnny, shrugging was basically as excited as he could get about something that didn’t involve murder or Freckle Bitch’s.

“You realize this means you’ll have to start wearing hot-pants, right?” I pointed out.  “To show off the tattoo.”

“Every pair of pants I wear are hot pants.  Because I’m hot. I make the pants hot, is what I mean,” he said.  I raised my eyebrow. “What the fuck are hot-pants?”

“Basically, booty shorts,” I replied.

“Oh, fuck no,” he cried.  “I’ll wear booty shorts the same day you wear a skirt.”

“You wanna shake on that?  Because seeing you in hot-pants might actually be worth wearing a skirt.”  Johnny glowered at me, then abruptly changed the topic.

“How’s your protege doing?” he asked.  

“Which one? I’ve got three,” I pointed out.

“Nah, Shaundi and Pierce are your lieutenants. Carlos, on the other hand, is the sole member of your very special gangbanger training program.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I snapped, unhappy with his tone.

“Just that you’ve taken a special interest in the kid.”

“He’s not a kid.  He’s as old as you are.”

“But you admit you’ve taken a special interest in him?”

“I haven’t treated him any different than anyone else,” I said, trying to keep my voice level.  What did Johnny know? What did he suspect? Had Carlos spilled the secret of our late-night bang sessions? Was everyone whispering about us behind my back?  I shook my head. I didn’t really think Carlos would betray my confidence. Johnny must just have seen something no one else had.

“Look, I don’t mean to question your leadership skills,” Johnny began.

“Then fucking don’t,” I warned him.

“Shaundi’s young, and has trouble looking out for herself.  But when you assigned her the Sons of Samedi, you made her step up and figure it out on her own.  Which turned out to be good for her. Pierce, you basically leave to his own devices, except when his plans get too fucking complicated and you shoot him down.”

“And they both have stepped up to the plate,” I pointed out.  “I think I’m doing a good job.”

“Don’t get a fucking big head, I’m not done,” Johnny warned.  “Carlos you’ve treated differently. You take him with you on a lot of missions. You two go carjacking for fun.  Hell, half the chop shops in the city think you two are joined at the hip.”

I frowned.  Sure, I had let Carlos come along when I was clearing out strongholds, but that was mostly because he asked, and the other two didn’t.  And carjacking was sort of our thing. We had stolen a boat together the day we met, and a hearse on the day I invited him to join the Saints.

“Sounds like you’re jealous, Johnny,” I pointed out, wagging my eyebrows at him.

“Don’t do that, it’s fucking weird,” he said.  “And I’m not scared of him taking my place. No one will ever take away what we have.  Or I’d kill him.”

“That’s so sweet,” I said, almost tearing up.  “There’s no one I’d rather murder with than you, too.”

“We’re not getting fucking sentimental here, Boss,” he said, turning his face up to stare at the ceiling.  “I’m just saying I’m not the one who's getting jealous.”

“But someone is getting jealous?”

“Yeah.”

“Pierce and Shaundi?”

“Yeah.”  

“I’ll talk to them.”  Maybe I could be making more of an effort to include the two of them, although not at the same time, or I’d never be free of their bickering.  I could take Shaundi on some assassination jobs, and teach her to be more badass. I could take Pierce to… fight club? Demo derby? Street racing?  I guess I needed to first learn what he liked to do better.

“In my defense, Carlos doesn’t argue with me like those two.  Or whine.”

“That’s because he worships the ground you walk on,” Johnny scoffed.  I looked at him, my brows furrowed. He nodded his head at my surprise.  “You probably don’t see it, maybe I’m the only one who does. But that kid has had the hots for you since day 1.”

“No, he fucking doesn’t,” I protest.

“Yeah, he just broke you out of prison, hangs on every word you say, jumps at any chance to spend time with you, even punched out a new recruit who said he wanted to motorboat you.”

“He what?!” I exclaimed.  “Who’s the recruit? I’ll fucking punch him out.”  Johnny just laughed and shook his head.

“Don’t worry, we haven’t seen the recruit since.  Maybe Carlos killed him, or something. And I wouldn’t worry about Carlos, either.  He doesn’t seem like the ‘nice guy’ type, so if you just keep ignoring him, he should be fine.” Johnny used air quotes around the phrase 'nice guy.' It made him look stupid. 

“What do you mean by nice guy type,” I asked.

“You know, the creepy motherfucker.  Like, they make friends with a girl to get in her pants, and then get mad at her when she wants to be friends and not fuck.”

“I’ve lost three guy friends like that,” the tattoo artist chimed in.  “You can always tell them by their lack of respect for boundaries.”

I had forgotten the artists were real people, with ears and voices and experiences.  It was a good thing I had invested in this location of Rusty’s Needles, or talking shop in front of outsiders would be a stupid fucking thing to do.  But these artists were smart enough not to bite that hands that fed them.

“Carlos respects my boundaries,” I said, more to myself than to anyone else in the room.  

“See, no problem, then,” Johnny said.  “And you got someone completely devoted to your cause.”

“Aren’t you completely devoted to my cause?” I asked him.

“Sure,” he nodded.  “As long as you keep giving me guns and bullets and letting me kill things.  People. But it’s good to have more that one person to rely on. And for me, it’s nice to know that if I get laid out again, there’s someone else who’s got your back.”

“Awe, you care about me,” I cooed, placing my hand over my heart.

“Boss, please shut the fuck up and let me enjoy this tattoo.”

_____

“Who wants to go blow up some trucks?” I asked to a mostly empty room.

“Oh, I do,” Shaundi exclaimed.  She popped to her feet, and then immediately sat down again.  “The room is spinning. Oh, maybe I smoked too much.”

“Damnit, Shaundi,” I said.  “You’re supposed to sell it, not smoke it.”

“I gotta make sure the product is still good,” she protested.  “I’ll blow up trucks with you tomorrow.”

I sighed and looked around the room again.  “Anyone else?”

“I totally would, Boss,” Pierce started, not looking up from the laptop that had held his attention exclusively for the past few days.  “But I’m in the middle of restructuring our online revenue streams to make them more stable and increase payouts. I just got into a flow, and I can’t break concentration.”

“I don’t know what that means,” I complained, but Pierce’s attention had been lost.  I turned to the one other Saint in the room, a recent college dropout who had dyed all her sorority t-shirts purple upon being canonized and was currently cleaning a stack of pistols.  She felt my gaze on her and looked up with some fear in her eyes.

“Johnny Gat said I’m not allowed to even eat until I’ve cleaned every pistol in the armory and taken inventory on ammo,” she explained.

I sighed, then asked her, “Did Johnny happen to mention where he was going?”

She shook her head and dropped her gaze back to the task in front of her.  I snatched two guns out of her freshly cleaned pile. “Fine. I’ll blow up trucks all by myself.”

I was almost to my car before I ran into the one person I didn’t want to take with me.

“Hey, Boss,” Carlos called, appearing out of nowhere.  “What’s going on?”

“Slow day, I’m just gonna go cause some havoc, mess up some people’s stuff,” I responded, trying to keep my plans vague.

“Okay, cool,” he said.  “You planning to move on Donnie soon?”  Fuck him. Was he telepathic? Supernaturally connected to me?  The way he insisted on showing up at the right time always had to be more than just coincidence.

“Uh, yeah.  I guess I’m doing that today.”

“Oh, good,” he said, his eyes lighting up and his hands coming out of his pockets.  “Can I tag along?”

Did I want Carlos to come with?  Yes. But also no. Johnny’s words had been at the forefront of my mind since we had gotten our tattoos.  I didn’t want to encourage any romantic feeling Carlos had for me, and I didn’t want to encourage any jealous feelings from Shaundi and Pierce.  But I also didn’t want to turn down the extra firepower. And I liked spending time with Carlos. Fuck it.

“Fine, but don’t talk.  You’re my silent muscle.”  He grinned and opened the driver’s side door for me.

_____

Finding Donnie was easy, and convincing him to rig his boss’s trucks to blow was even easier.  I had remembered him as a weak pushover, but I had forgotten exactly how MUCH of a weak pushover he really was.  I barely looked at him and he was begging for mercy.

After the last truck blew, I roughed him up and tossed him out on Brotherhood territory.  I wanted to make sure Maero knew it was me that was fucking up his shit, and if I could sow some bad blood between him and his favorite mechanic, all the better.

Carlos had been obediently quiet during the mission, faithful to his task of taking out the Brotherhood goons that showed up once they realized what we were doing.  But once Donnie was out of the car and we were speeding away on the high way, he didn’t hold back.

“That was so fucking fun,” he exclaimed, climbing over the seat to sit next to me in the Voxel we had taken from Donnie.

“Fuck, Carlos, don’t you know I’m a bad driver?  I could kill you,” I said. He shrugged.

“You killing me is better than someone else killing me,” he said, settling into the front seat and pulling the seatbelt across his body.  “Better than the Brotherhood or pigs killing me.”

I shook my head and tried not to smile.  His playfulness mirrored my own high spirits.  Nothing like a hostage situation and big explosions to make a good day a great day.

“Can I ask you a question, though?  About something Donnie said?” Carlos asked.  I nodded. “Who was Lin?”

“She was a Saint.  A good woman,” I said.  “She worked undercover in the Rollerz back when I first joined.  She’s dead now.”

“Donnie made it sound like she was important to him,” Carlos said.  I scoffed.

“Donnie didn’t give a shit about Lin.  Not really. He let her die, and didn’t do a damn thing to stop it.”

“What do you mean?” Carlos asked.

“Okay, so, like I said she was undercover.  But I guess we weren’t as careful as we thought, and one of the top Rollerz, this guy called Sharp, he figured it out.  Got both me and Lin, tied us up in the trunk of her own car. But before he could kill us, he had to show Donnie what a _pendejo_ he had been.  And Donnie just stands there, crying about it.  Sharp shoots us, and that motherfucker just walks away, while Sharp pushes us into the river to drown or bleed out.  I was lucky I got out.

“And like, yes she betrayed him, but he didn’t even give her a fucking chance to say shit.  If she was really his girl, if he really loved her, he woulda done something.”

“Donnie doesn’t look like the kind of guy that could do much,” Carlos pointed out.

“That’s not the point,” I responded.  “If you love someone, you try. Maybe he could’ve save her, maybe not, but he didn’t even fucking try.  He just cried and ran away like a cowardly baby. If that had been Aisha in that trunk, Johnny would have torn Sharp apart with his bare hands, whether or not she betrayed him.  That’s what love is.”

“Johnny and Aisha are your model relationship, huh?” Carlos asked.  I shrugged.

“I can’t say I’ve seen a whole lot of loving couples in my life.  But Johnny and Eesh, compared to Donnie and Lin? Donnie’s a piece of shit who didn’t deserve Lin.”

“You ever feel like that about someone?” Carlos asked.  I looked over at him and narrowly avoided running over a moped.  He was looking straightforward, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Are you asking if I’ve ever been in love? When would I have done that?  I lost five years of my life, and before that, I was a kid.”

“You never had some teenage romance?” Carlos pressed.

“The only teenage boys I ever met before I came to Stillwater were at the church my adoptive parents forced me to go to, and I wasn’t allowed anywhere near them.”

“Your parents were afraid of you falling in love?” he chuckled.

“Adoptive parents.  And they thought I would taint the boys, actually.  I was fucking Jezebel to them.” I clenched my jaw and speed up.  I hated talking about my life before Stillwater.

“And you haven’t fallen in love since you woke up?” Carlos followed up.  He said it casually, but the question held a heavy weight. I didn’t want to answer it.  Say no, and I’d break his heart. Say yes, and I’d be getting myself into something I didn’t want to be in.  Which one was the lie?

“Have you ever been in love?” I countered, deflecting the question.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“You don’t know if you’ve ever been in love?”

“It’s complicated,” he protested.

“And yet, you thought it was simple enough for me to answer.”  He let out a sigh, unable to argue against me.

“Well, I guess,” he started.  “I don’t think love is really real if it’s one sided.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Like, you can have strong feelings for someone, but if they don’t have those feelings back, then it’s not really love.  It’s just infatuation,” he explained. “Love can only occur, can only grow, if it’s protected. And as far as I know, no one’s ever... Shared that kind of feeling with me.”

What he said made sense, and tugged at my heartstrings.  I hated that.

“We gonna get mani-pedis now?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.  He just stared at me, unamused. “We could get matching acrylics. 3rd Street Saints’ purple.”

“What are acrylics?” he asked.

“You know, like the fake nails some girls wear,” I explained.

“You want me to get fake nails?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.  “And since when do you wear fake nails?”

“No, it was like a joke,” I said.  “Like, cuz we were talking about our feelings?  Like typical girls do? And getting their nails done is also something girls do together…”

“Oh, I get it,” Carlos said, his voice rising and a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re too chicken shit to talk about feelings.”

“I am not!” I protested.  I wasn’t afraid. I just really didn’t want to.

“It’s okay,” he assured me.  “Everyone in the Saints knows your emotions got blown up on that boat.”

“That’s stupid,” I said.  “I didn’t lose my emotions in the explosion, I just didn’t bring them with when I moved to Stillwater.”

Carlos giggled at my joke, then sobered up and said, “No, but I think you do have emotions.  You experience anger, and annoyance, murderous glee, pride, and I think you do feel love, like if there’s a fun bag from Freckle Bitches in front of you.”

I cracked up at that, and we both laughed heartily.  Usually, only Johnny could make me laugh in earnest.

“Hey, you wanna do something fun?” I asked.

“More fun than blowing up Maero’s trucks?” Carlos inquired with a grin.

“One of the chop shops has asked for a SWAT van,” I said. Carlos raised a brow.

“Let me guess, we’ll cause mayhem until someone calls SWAT on us, then take off with the van,” he suggested.

“That would be fun, but I was thinking we’d steal one right out from under their noses,” I said.

“Break into the police garage?”

“I’ve got uniforms.  We could be in and out before they could blink.”

“Let’s do it!”

_____

Our break-in went smoothly.  It’s true what they say; if you look like you belong and move with confidence, no one will question you.  I didn’t even have to hotwire the damn thing, because someone had left the keys sitting on the driver’s side seat.  It took us less than five minutes to steal the van, and another 10 to get to the chop-shop. The whole adventure was disappointingly underwhelming.

“We should have done the mayhem thing,” I said, tossing the keys to the mechanic who had opened the shop for us. “I thought it’d be more satisfying to be sneaky, but this was almost boring.”

“You’d make a terrible cat burglar,” Carlos said.

“What can I say, I live for the thrill of danger,” I said, sighing.  All of the adrenaline and excitement from earlier in the day had worn off, and now I was just tired.

“We can still go cause mayhem,” Carlos suggested.  “Do some heavy property damage. I bet we could get ahold of a rocket launcher.”

“That’s sweet,” I said, touching him lightly on the arm. “But I think the mood’s been ruined.  Now I just want to go to Tee’N’Ay’s and get drunk.”

“Or,” Carlos offered, “we could go back to your place, the one by the airport, and drink in private.” He stepped closer to me, his hand sliding up my arm to my elbow.

“There’s not strippers at my place,” I pointed out.  He moved even closer.

“I don’t really care about strippers,” he said, letting his other hand tug at my belt, forcing me to close the rest of the distance between us.  Now our hips were touching, my breasts pushed up against his chest, and I could feel the heat of his breath on my skin. “Although I’d like to see you take off your clothes.”

We were standing on a sidewalk, where anyone could see us, friend or foe.  I wanted to push him away, afraid someone might see us, and remind him that he was still my subordinate, but I couldn’t quite make the decision to do that.  He wanted me, and I liked being wanted. He was being bold, touching me in public, and all the adrenaline I thought had disappeared came flooding back into my system.  He leaned closer, so he was whispering in my ear.

“We could put these uniforms to good use, play good cop bad cop.” All the blood in my body came rushing to the surface of my skin as his lips grazed my earlobe.  “You’d be the bad cop, and I’d teach you the error of your ways.”

I pulled back to look into his eyes.  His pupils were dilated with attraction, and I imagined mine were, as well. He smelled good.  Even after a whole day of work, the sweet, rich scent of whatever cologne he used lingered on his skin.  I wanted to breathe him in deeply and imbed his scent in my memory.

“So, Officer Mendoza,” I said.  “You think you can break me? I’d like to see you try.”

_____

It was a good hour and a half later when I laid contently in his arms, still sweaty and now half asleep, that I remembered I had decided not to let him into my bed again.  This late at night, though, it would be cruel to kick him out of bed and out of the loft. Additionally, he was comfortable to sleep on, and there was no reason to deprive myself of a good night’s sleep just because I worried about his feelings.  I wrapped my arms tighter around his torso and closed my eyes for good that night.


	5. An Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boss is a fuck up, and royally fucks things up. Maybe Johnny can talk some sense into her before it's too late.

There was an intense vibration coming from somewhere below me.  As I slowly gained consciousness, I pinpointed its location to be directly under my face.  Well, not directly. There was a pillow between me and the vibration.

I pushed my hand up along the mattress until I found my cell phone, dragged it out, and plopped it on the pillow in front of my face.  Then I opened one eye, squinting at the brightness of the screen. Shaundi’s face appeared above two small phone icons, one red and one green.  She was calling me.

As my brain was trying to process the vibrating phone and decide what course of action to take, the phone went silent, and the screen went black.  It had taken too long to wake up my brain, and I had missed the call. I groaned and pressed the screen unlock button to check the time. 9:45 am. Not unreasonably early, but earlier than I’d like.

A finger traced the line of my spine, sending shivers along my naked skin.  I smiled and rolled over, right into the warm arms of Carlos. He pulled me tight against him, jerking the blankets out of our way, and pressed his hips against me so that I knew just how happy he was to wake up to me beside him.  

“Good morning, _guapo_ ,” I said, kissing him lightly on the nose.

“It is a good morning indeed,” he responded, letting his fingertips dance over my shoulder and down my arm.

Maero had put the whole Brotherhood on lockdown after the shit we pulled with Donnie, and getting new information had proven to be difficult.  Carlos knew there was a shipment coming in, but we didn’t know of what, or when, or where. Everything else he had heard was about tattoos and trucks.  I had gotten bored.

Then, a few days back I had the idea of poking the bear.  And by bear, I meant Maero. And by poking, I meant literally poking him in the face with radioactive tattoo ink.  Worst case scenario, nothing happened and Maero got cancer in 25 years. Best case scenario, the radioactive material ate through his face and he died a slow, agonizing death, leaving the Brotherhood leaderless and ripe for the taking.  Most likely scenario, it fucked up his face and he got angry enough to come after me. Maero seemed like he got stupid when he got angry. I was counting on it.

So I broke into the nuclear power plant and stole radioactive waste.  That was the easy part. The hard part was surviving long enough for Carlos to come pick me up in a chopper, then survive the chopper crashing in a parking lot, then survive the cops long enough to get the waste to Rusty Needles, where they kindly mixed it with ink, and sold it to Maero’s personal tattoo artist.

It was one helluva night, and having Carlos along for the ride made me feel invincible.  So I invited him back to my bed afterward, even though I said I wouldn’t. I wanted to celebrate with him.  Then one night turned into morning sex and breakfast, which turned into spending all of the next day with him, which turned into inviting him back again the next night, which turned into… spending four entire days with him.  And here I was again, waking up in his arms. The airport crib had become our own private sanctuary, where we could enjoy each other away from the prying eyes of everyone else in the gang.

It wasn’t like I had abdicated my duties as the boss.  I had checked in with each of my lieutenants and gotten a full report.  It’s just that nothing was happening. We were playing a waiting game, waiting for Maero to feed his tattoo addiction, get fucked up, realize it was us, and make a move.  Until he did that, I didn’t have much to do, so why not spend four days terrorizing the police with Carlos and four nights being terrorized by Carlos? I suppose it wasn’t really terrorizing if I enjoyed it.

“I’m thinking crepes for breakfast,” he suggested.

“You know how to make crepes?” I asked, my voice dubious.

“Isn’t it a little late to be doubting my culinary skills?” he asked.  He was right. Last night he had made risotto. Yesterday morning, it had been a quiche.  The night before, homemade pizza. I was going to get fat if I let him keep feeding me, and I was okay with that.

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually had crepes,” I confessed.  “It always seemed like fancy food.”

“It’s no more fancy than waffles,” he said.

“You say this to the woman who thinks cereal takes too much effort sometimes. Last week my breakfast was two dry handfuls of Captain Crunch and an iced coffee. Except it wasn’t iced, it was room temperature and left over from the day before.” Carlos leaned away from me.

“That’s disgusting, _chava_. How do you function?”  I shrugged.

“I’m still young,” I said.  “My body only really needs enough calories to keep my trigger finger moving.”  I wiggled said finger at him, giggling. Carlos sighed deeply and closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against me.  I liked to think he found my dysfunction endearing. I was supposed to be dead several times over, so putting in the effort to feed myself properly just seemed like a waste of time.  I pointed out, “On the bright side, I’ll never complain about your cooking.”

“You wouldn’t anyway.  I’m a great cook,” Carlos said, rolling on top of me and burying his head in my neck.

“No, no,” I said, half-heartedly pulling on his hair.  “Eat first, _then_ sex.”

“I agree,” he responded, kissing his way down my body.  “I’m going to eat, and then we’re going to have sex.”

I couldn’t help but smile and laugh at his shit-eating grin, and I almost didn’t hear the door open.

“Hello,” a woman’s voice called out.  “Boss, are you here?”

Shit.  Shaundi.

“I tried to call but- DO YOU HAVE A POOL?”

I kicked Carlos off of me, sending him sprawling over the edge of the bed.  I rolled to the opposite side, pulling sheets off me as I went. I grabbed the two closest pieces of clothing, his boxers and my t-shirt.  I pulled them both on as I stumbled to the door of the bedroom.

“I’ll be right down,” I called, then whispered, “fuckfuckfuckfuck.”

I didn’t even look back at Carlos in my hurry to meet Shaundi before she could explore her way upstairs.  If she knew he was here, naked, in my bed, I felt like the entire universe would implode, like two incompatible worlds trying to occupy the same space.  I closed the door firmly behind me and rushed to the top of the stairs.

I made it just in time.  Shaundi had one foot on the first step when she saw me.

“There you are!” she exclaimed.  “I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.  Boss, you’ve been holding out on us, this place is gorgeous.”

“What’s up, Shaundi,” I said in an attempt to sound casual, my heart threatening to go into arrhythmia.  “How’d you know I was here?”

“There’s a check-in system at HQ, so we know where to find you in emergencies,” she explained.  “This was the only property Pierce knew of that didn’t have another Saint stationed. I supposed you could have gone home with someone, but…” Shaundi paused and looked at my clothes.  “You DID go home with someone!”

“What are you talking about?” I demanded, crossing my arms.

“You’re wearing a man’s boxers,” she pointed out.

“They’re only a man’s if a man owns them,” I snapped.  “I’ll have you know I have a wide selection of boxers, boxer-briefs, boyshorts, thongs, whatever.”

“Yeah, but all your underwear is purple,” she said.

“What.”

“You are always ‘on-brand,’ as Pierce likes to say, with your colors.  I’ve been in your wardrobe. You don’t own green boxers.”

“Shaundi, why have you been in my wardrobe?” I asked, my voice quiet and tight.  To her credit, she did look a little ashamed, like she hadn’t meant to admit to being a snoop.  But she squared her shoulders and pushed on.

“Don’t try to change the subject, you’re wearing someone else’s underwear.  Which means, you had someone here last night, and they probably haven’t left.”  With a smile of triumph at her conclusion, Shaundi attempted to dart up the stairs, but I body checked her, and she landed back on the first floor, on her ass.  “Ow.”

“Shaundi, I’m only going to tell you this once,” I started.  “If you attempt to pry into my personal life, I will cut off your dreads and make you eat them.”  Shaundi climbed to her feet looking very put out.

“Fine, but will you at least tell me his name?  Or her name, I guess.”

“Sure,” I said. “It’s Nunya.”

“Nunya? That’s a weird name.  What’s the last name?”

“The last name is Business.”

“Nunya Business? Oh, none of ya business.  That’s clever.” Shaundi put her hands up in surrender.  “Fine, I get it. You want to keep your secrets. But when this turns serious, you’re gonna have to come clean.  At the very least, we’ll need to run a background check.”

“I don’t think that’ll be happening,” I said.

“What?  The sex isn’t very good?” she asked.

“No, actually, the sex is great,” I corrected.  “But that’s all it is. Just sex. He’s an easy fuck, no strings attached.  The likelihood of this evolving into something more is basically non-existent.”

“That’s too bad,” Shaundi mused.  “Someone in the Saints deserves some happiness.”

“I get my happiness from destroying lesser gangs,” I said.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Shaundi squealed, the excitement returning to her face.  “Word on the street is someone messed with Maero’s most recent tattoo. His whole face is fucked up, and he’s out for blood.  I’ve got some choice people spreading the word it was us. Now it’s only a matter of time before he makes a move.”

I smiled.  I was a tactical genius, really.  Either that or I just knew really well how to push the buttons of overly self-important men.  I almost felt like rubbing my hands together in true evil-genius fashion, but I resisted. There was no reason to show Shaundi how excited I was.

“Thanks for letting me know,” I told her.  “Why don’t you head back to HQ and make sure everyone is geared up for whatever Maero decides to throw at us.”

“Alright, alright,” she said, moving for the door.  “I’ll let you and your man friend finish up. See you soon, Boss.”

Once Shaundi had left, I double checked that the door was locked, just in case she decided to come back for any reason.  Then I dashed up the stairs to tell Carlos the good news.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed pulling on his socks when I opened the door.  Other than the boxers I was wearing, he was fully dressed.

“Did you hear?” I asked.  “Maero’s face got fucked up.”

“Yeah, I heard alright,” he snapped.  His voice tight and clipped. “I heard everything you said.”

He sounded angry, but that couldn’t be right.  He should be as happy as I was that our plan worked.  And yet, as he stood up and looked at me, I could see the fury in his clenched hands, pulled-back shoulders, and hard-set jaw.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked, baffled.

“What do you care?” he countered, looking at me with narrowed eyes.  Even angry, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful his eyes were. “I’m just an easy fuck, right?  Here for you to use and then toss away.”

“What has gotten into you?” I demanded.  “Yeah, you’re an easy fuck. I’m an easy fuck.  That’s what this is. Easy fucking.”

“That’s not what this is, and you fucking know it,” he spat back.  “It’s never been that. From the first time, right after Aisha died, what’s happened between us is more than just fucking.”

“You’re delusional,” I chided.

“Me? I’m the delusional one?” he asked, taking a step toward me.  I squared my shoulders and stood my ground. Never let a motherfucker make you back up.  It’s weak.

“Why do you spend so much time with me, huh?” he asked, his voice rising.  “Why do you come to me when you’re hurt or sad or angry? Why do you fuck me?  Me, not one of the hundreds of talented prostitutes in the city. Why have we spent four full fucking days together?  Why do you want me to cook for you? Or wrap my arms around you as you sleep? You think that’s just fucking? You think that’s no strings attached?  Newsflash, Boss. There’s fucking strings here, and a lot of them. I’m not just some boy toy that you don’t care about, and I’m sick of being treated like one.”

If words could hurt, these would have left welts across my face.  This wasn’t what I wanted. This was heavy, crushing emotion, and I didn’t have time for emotion.  Carlos was a good time, but now he had opened his mouth and ruined everything. Why couldn’t he be happy with what I gave him?  Why did he have to demand more? I didn’t know what to say, so I just scoffed and looked away. That seemed to break him.

“ _Te ame desde el momento en que puse mis ojos en ti,"_ he said in a furious whisper.  “But I guess that doesn’t mean anything to you.”

“What do you want me to say?” I asked him.  “I told you from the start that it was just for fun. _Pendejo_ , I’m not responsible for your broken heart.”

He took a step back from me.  I had never seen him angry, but now his jaw was clenched tight and he held himself with an inflexible rigidity.  He never had a reason to be, and he didn’t have a reason to be now, but seeing the hurt in his eyes made my stomach clench.

“I’m the fucking boss, okay?  And I don’t have time for some rom-com bullshit.  We’re at war. Do you get that?” He didn’t meet my eyes, instead looking out the window.  “The Brotherhood is just as bloodthirsty as the Ronin, or the Sons, and if I’m gonna take them out, I can’t be preoccupied with the emotions of one of my lieutenants.  That’s when shit gets messy. You don’t wanna fuck anymore? Fine, I’ll live. But don’t you dare guilt me into being a bleeding heart bitch. There are lots of girls in this city to be your _novia_ , but I ain’t one of them.  Either deal with it, or get the fuck outta my face.”

We stood there quietly, staring at each other, for what felt like 10 years.  It was like we were standing on landmines. I wanted him to say, “you’re right, I’m sorry, let’s forget this whole thing and go to HQ,” and then everything would go back to normal, but I knew that wouldn’t happen.  Johnny had said Carlos worshipped the ground I walked on, and I didn’t take him seriously. I never should have let it get this far. I never should have even fucked him in the first place. But I had, and now everything was broken.  I knew what he wanted from me, but he would keep wanting. He finally seemed to realize that, and his whole body deflated.

“I’m gonna take some time,” he said, quietly.  “I know shit’s going down with Maero, but I can’t be around you right now.  If you really need me, have Shaundi call me, but I just…” he edged around me, toward the door.  “I don’t want to see you for a while.”

“Fine, go,” I said. My voice flat.  I didn’t even watch as he walked out the door.  I could already feel the regret poisoning my veins.

_____

HQ was bustling by the time I got there.  Johnny was putting squads together and assigning cars.  Pierce was hunched over his computers, his eyes glued to something he called twits, or twats, or something like that.  Online messages or some shit. Shaundi was networking over the phone, her voice sweet and honeyed as she skillfully manipulated whatever sad sack was on the other end of the line.  I went to the bar and poured myself a shot.

I had just tossed back my third shot when Johnny finally found his way over to me.

“Alcohol is for celebrating and wallowing, you should be doing cocaine right now.  That’ll get you ready for the fight,” he said. I looked at him and wondered how he’d respond if I just punched him.  Instead, I poured another shot, and he commented, “Okay, so I guess we’re celebrating. Or wallowing? I feel like it might be wallowing.”

“Do you want something?” I asked. Johnny looked around, double checking to make sure I was talking to him.  I was.

“I’m sorry, did I put a stick up your ass earlier and forget about it?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest.  “Because last time I checked, I didn’t need a reason to talk to my best fucking friend.”

“You’re right,” I said, trying to force some of the tension out of my body.  “I’m just in a bad mood. My morning didn’t go as planned.”

“Anyone I need to fuck up?” he asked.  “Shaundi said you were with someone when she saw you.”

“First of all, Shaundi can MIND HER OWN FUCKING BUSINESS,” I said, raising my voice to ensure she heard me.  She smiled and waved in my direction. “Second of all, I can fuck up all on my own, thank you very much.”

“Oh, I see,” Johnny surmised, taking the tequila bottle from me and placing it back on the shelf.  “You fuck up something you didn’t mean to?”

“No,” I countered, leaning against the bar.  “I meant to fuck it up. I think.”

“Let me guess,” Johnny offered.  “You started to catch feelings, and then got scared?”  I thought again about punching him.

“I didn’t get scared, and I didn’t catch feelings,” I protested.  “I was very clear about my intentions right off the bat. It’s not my fault some people dig where nothing’s buried.”  Johnny looked unconvinced.

“So it wasn’t so much that you caught feelings, as it was you were called out for catching feelings,” Johnny concluded.  

“You know, you’ve always been a fucking asshole,” I snapped.

“Yeah, and you’ve always been a fucking liar,” he responded.  I glared at him, and he put his hands up in defense. “Hey, I’m not trying to pry into your business.”

“Then fucking don’t,” I said.

“Okay, I’ll just tell you a story, then. Back when I was a baby gangbanger,” he started.  The image of him in a diaper, sucking on a pacifier and mowing down cops with an AR-15 popped into my head, and I barely kept from laughing.  “I met this girl. And she was hot, but like, lots of girls were hot. And this girl, she pushed my buttons like no one else did. So, of course, I go after her.  At first, it was just, I wanted to prove to her I could get her. But then I got her, and all I wanted to do was spend time with her. And she got me doing dumb shit, like calling her every morning just to say good morning, or saying please and thank you to cashiers. She knew I loved her before I did, and I wasted a lot of time fucking up, not being honest about how I felt, when I could have spent that time happy with her.”

“No offense, Johnny,” I interrupted.  “But very few people are you and Aisha.”

“Who said I was talking about Aisha?” Johnny asked.  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, I was talking about Aisha. But the point is, if you’re falling in love, and I’m not saying you are, but if you are, you’re gonna regret resisting it.  Because I regret every single second she spent not knowing how much I loved her.”

“She knew how much you loved her, Johnny,” I said, my voice quiet.  I reached out a hand and placed it on his forearm to comfort him.

“At the end she did,” he said.  “But I wasted a lot of time at the beginning, when I could have just made her happy."

I wished Carlos were here.  If I was honest, I spent most of the time I wasn’t with him wishing I were.  What he and I had wasn’t the same as Johnny and Aisha. I didn’t want to buy him flowers or take him to fancy restaurants.  I just wanted to be around him. Was that love? Or something that would grow into love?

I shook my head.  I had already spent too much time thinking about someone else’s feelings when I should have been focused on my takeover of Stillwater.  But if Johnny was right, and I sacrificed what I had with Carlos for my own pride, then I would regret it when I was sitting on my throne as the kingpin of Stillwater and Carlos was out of my reach.  But even if Johnny was right, it might be too late.

“You ever fuck up with Aisha so bad you thought you couldn’t come back from it?” I asked.  He nodded.

“Once.  But that’s the thing about real love.  It only happens when they love you back.  And when you love someone, they forgive you for being a fuck up.”

“I’m a fuck up,” I said.

“And I forgive you,” Johnny said.

“You know sometimes I just sit here and think about punching you in the face,” I said.

“Don’t do that,” he said.  “My perfect jaw would break your dainty fingers.”

“Hey Boss,” Shaundi said, joining us at the bar.  “I can’t get ahold of Carlos. You heard from him?”

“Uhhh…”  Yes, I had.  A few hours ago when he left my apartment heartbroken.  “I’ll call him.”

I wandered away from them and dialed his number.  It rang a few times, then went to voicemail. I hung up and tried again.  This time, when it went to voicemail I decided to leave a message.

“Hey, it’s me,” I said.  “I know you said you couldn’t be around me, but… Look I’m a fuck up.  I could blame it on my fucked up childhood, which I will tell you about someday, but the truth is I’m just… I don’t know.  I think you were right, though. Everything you said this morning, you were right. Fuck Carlos, this is hard. Like, killing people is easy.  But saying this… shit… I never been in love. And I’m not saying I love you. Fuck. I can’t do this over the phone. Meet me at Tee’N’Ay. Whenever.  I’ll be there waiting for you.”


	6. Red Asphalt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's basically what happens in-game, except worse, because now we know exactly how the boss feels. Major character death, obviously. If you came here for a happy ending, you're reading the wrong fic.

Normally, I loved Tee’N’Ay.  It comforted me. Stilled my thoughts and lowered my heart rate.  Plus, naked ladies were always my favorite things to look at. It should have been the ideal place to wait to see if Carlos had forgiven me, or was at least willing to talk to me.  Instead, I found the whole place irritating. The colors were too garish. The music was too loud. Every time a bartender or stripper tried to talk to me I had to fight the urge to punch them.

After an hour of waiting, I called Carlos a second time.  It went straight to voicemail. I called him 18 more times.  I probably wouldn’t have if the damn phone had rung, unwilling to leave evidence of my desperation, but if the phone wasn’t ringing, then it wasn’t even registering my calls, and I was safe to call as often as I liked.  Which was every time I started to fear that he was rejecting me.

After three hours of waiting, I texted him, “Let me know at least if you’re not going to come.”  My fear was starting to turn to anger. He was the one who wanted something more, and now he was just going to blow me off?  How could he say he loved me, and then not even show up to hear my apology? I was a catch: powerful, intelligent, resilient, and a banging bod.  He was stupid for not wanting to make up with me. Everything about him was stupid. His stupid purple pants, his stupid A-shirt, his stupid chain and his stupid tattoos and his stupid beanie.  And I was stupid for wanting to be with him.

After five hours of waiting, I hated myself.  He obviously wasn't coming. He obviously didn’t want anything more to do with me.  Why should he? I was a psychopath who ran over little old ladies in crosswalks. Anyone with a conscience would avoid me like the plague.  My adoptive parents were right; I was Jezebel. I had seduced him, abused him, and tossed him away, and now I was paying for it. Yet here I was, still waiting for him like a _pendeja_. Maybe I had actually died on the way over here, and waiting for him in a strip-club was my own personal hell, a punishment for the lives I had carelessly and thoughtlessly taken.

After six hours of waiting, I couldn’t stay in the club.  I walked outside. The sun was starting its slow summer descent, and the shadows were lengthening.  Waiting on the sidewalk was hardly better than waiting inside, but at least I could pace back and forth without anyone giving me dirty looks.  I checked my phone every minute, just in case he had texted or called without me realizing it. He hadn’t. Instead, an old man in a trench coat walked by and opened it to reveal his sad, old, saggy balls and limp dick.  

When the phone finally rang, I answered it before it had stopped ringing.  “Carlos, where the fuck are you?” I asked, in the calmest voice I could muster.  I cringed immediately.

“I think your people skills need some work, sweetie,” a woman’s voice crooned.  It was a voice I hadn’t heard much, but I could still identify. It was not who I’d wanted to hear, but I wasn’t surprised she’d called.

“Jessica… how’d you like Maero’s new tattoo?” I asked her.  I wondered if she had been there when it happened, if she’d gotten to see her man writhe in agony.  I hoped so.

“Actually, I think it’s pretty sexy… rugged, tough…” she responded.

“Radioactive,” I added.

“That’s cute,” she said.  She didn’t sound as angry as I’d like.  She was taking it too well.

“I try,” I said.  “Now, what the fuck do you want?”

“Well, I just wanted to let you know that since you were kind enough to give my man a makeover, I should return the favor,” she informed me.  “Don’t worry, by the time we’re through with him, Carlos will look just as handsome as Maero.”

My stomach dropped out of my body and my heart stopped.

“Listen up you fucking bitch,” I angrily whispered.

“Course, I don’t have access to the same materials you did, but ya know, I figure we can make do.”  I had a vision of her taking a knife to Carlos’ face, carving him up. I broke out in a cold sweat, the fear flushing through my veins like heroin.  

“When I find you-”

“I’m sure you’ll do something scary,” she finished. “Do me a favor.  When you’re scraping up your buddy’s face, just remember Maero gave you a chance to be his partner.”  Then she hung up.

I stared at my phone for a second and saw that the call that just ended came from Carlos’s phone.  She wasn’t bluffing. She had taken him from me and had something terrible planned. Fear and anger fought for control of my body, and I responded by hurtling the phone at the side of the building as hard as I could as I screamed out in rage.  The phone smashed irreparably.

Jessica was right.  When I found her, I’d do something scary.  But first I had to find Carlos, and I had to find him before she had done whatever she had planned.  I wouldn't lose him like Johnny had lost Aisha. I wouldn’t. So I headed for the one person I knew could give me information on where he might be.

_____

Donnie’s garage was not heavily guarded.  It was a stupid decision on Maero’s part. He had to know Donnie was a weak link, and after the stunt I pulled with the truck, he should have had the place covered in extra muscle.  I simply walked in through the open garage door and took out the only three armed men in the place with three perfectly aimed shots to the head. They fell like the flies they were.

“Oh god, you again?” Donnie whimpered as he backed away from me.  He grabbed a chair and weakly threw it at me, but his aim wasn’t good, and I easily sidestepped it.

“Wrong answer,” I growled, and punched him in the gut.  He crumpled to the floor, and I stomped on his knee. He cried out in pain and tried to crawl away from me.

“I can’t tell you,” he pleaded.  “Maero will kill me!” Stupid motherfucker.  He had just admitted that he knew what had happened and where Carlos was.  It took everything I had not to put a slug in his brain. But just because I couldn’t kill him didn’t mean I couldn’t shoot him.

“Then we’re gonna have a problem,” I said, drawing my pistol and pointing it at his undamaged knee.

“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you,” he yelled.  It was cute the way he was trying to act tough. It was too bad I already knew what a weak piece of shit he was.  I shot his knee, and he screamed and clutched it. I moved my pistol to his head and pressed it into his temple.

“This is your last chance,” I informed him.  Tears were streaming down his face, but he nodded.

“I heard them say they were gonna take him on a ride around the docks,” he said. I pivoted on my heel and sprinted back to my car, swiping Donnie’s phone on my way out.  I didn’t want Donnie calling Jessica or Maero and telling them I was coming, but more importantly, I needed to get the word out to all the Saints to head to the docks and keep their eyes peeled, and my phone laid in pieces in a different neighborhood.

Johnny answered as I put my car in drive.  “Get everyone out and headed for the docks.  I need all eyes looking out for Brotherhood trucks,” I commanded.

“You got it, Boss,” Johnny responded.  “What’s going down?”

“They took Carlos.”

He was silent for a moment before saying, “I’m on my way.”

I drove faster and more recklessly than I ever had before.  If I had been in a bigger vehicle, I would have just driven over other vehicles instead of swerving around them.  I had to get to Carlos before Jessica could do whatever she had planned. Something to his face? So she probably wasn’t going to drown him, but what was special about the docks that she could do to him?  Sure, there were a lot of empty warehouses where she could torture him, but that was true of almost every neighborhood in the city. What did she have planned?

The closer I got to the docks, the darker the sky became, and thunderclouds clapped in the distance.  The closer I got to the docks, the darker my mind became, filled with all of the terrible things Jessica could be doing to him.  I gripped the steering wheel with both hands, tightly enough that my knuckles went white. The drop in air pressure made it hard to take in a full breath.  Or maybe my lungs had just stopped working in fear. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to breathe again until Carlos was back safe in my arms.

I saw Johnny pull up beside me, and my fear abated a little.  Whatever was in front of us, I felt better knowing there’d be a better chance of getting to Carlos with an extra set of guns.  And I would get to Carlos. And he’d be fine when I found him. I would shoot them all dead, rescue him, and he’d be safe and alive.  He would be alive, right? Jessica didn’t want to kill him, she just wanted him to suffer so that I would suffer. But I’d save him before she hurt him too badly.  I had to.

I finally caught sight of a Brotherhood truck.  It was swerving back and forth, like a drunk maniac was driving it.  The driver must have seen me because it changed course and darted into a parking lot, which is when I noticed it seemed to be dragging something behind it. Something large and long, leaving red stains on the asphalt. Oh god.  Carlos.

Carlos.  Tied by the ankles. Dragged behind the truck.  Bloody. Limp. Time stopped in that moment. My heart stopped.  My breathing stopped. My brain stopped. I couldn’t make out the purple of his pants, or the white of his shirt, or anything that indicated that the body being dragged through the streets was him.  But I knew. The way you know you’ve been shot when you see the bullet wound, before you feel the pain. The way you see a bomb go off before you feel the blast. The way you see death come before you take your final breath.

Johnny reacted before I could, shooting out the tires.  It careened sideways, and Carlos’ body careened with it, before crashing into a dumpster and coming to a stop.  My foot was still glued to the pedal, and I aimed my car for the driver’s side door and plowed into it just as the driver was opening it.  The bald, leather-clad man was trapped in the impact and flopped against the hood of my car, dead.

Rain soaked me instantly as I crawled out of the car through the window.  I almost slipped as I ran to Carlos, but kept my momentum going until I reached him, crashing to my knees beside him.  He was face down and breathing heavily. His back was a bloody, torn-up mess. His shirt and most of his pants had been ripped away, as had the exposed skin.  I turned him over, and his cries of agony made me feel like I was being blown up a second time.

“No, no, no,” I cried, tears blurring my vision.  “Carlos, can you hear me?” I asked. He didn’t respond with words, only whimpers.  His face was unrecognizable, and in one place, the white of bone was showing through his jaw.  

“Carlos, you’re going to be okay, okay?” I said staggering to my feet.  I slid my hands under his arms and tried to pull him away from the truck.  He screamed in pain, and I had to set him back down. “I know it hurts, but I’m gonna save you.”  I had to save him. He had to be okay. I would get him to the hospital, just like I had Johnny, and the doctors would fix him up, and sure he’d have some scars, but he’d be alive, and I’d love him, and I’d never let him get hurt like this again.

I ran to the hitch of the truck and found that the chains were padlocked on.  I kicked at the lock, but it didn’t budge. I kicked at it again, then a third time.  Then I whirled on Johnny, who was just standing there, staring at Carlos. “Fucking do something!” I yelled.  “Help me.” But he just looked at me with sad eyes.

Carlos made a warbling sound, like he couldn’t breathe right.  I rushed back to him.

“It’s going to be okay,” I said, but he didn’t respond.  He couldn’t respond.

“Boss,” Johnny said gently.  “He’s dying.”

“No,” I cried.  “Carlos, you can’t die. _Te amo_.” I tried to touch his face, to hold him, but it just made his pain worse.  His eyes were unfocused and barely open. I couldn’t even tell if he knew I was there.  A sob broke out of my chest.

“Do you hear me?” I cried. “ _Te amo_. I love you. Please don’t die.”  

I saw his fingers move in my direction, and grasped his hand. It clenched tightly around mine.  He knew it was me. He knew I was here. “ _Te amo_ ,” I whispered over and over again.  If he was going to die, he was going to die knowing I loved him.  That was all I could give him.

“Boss,” Johnny said, again.  I looked up, and he was holding out his pistol for me.

“What? NO,” I protested, recoiling from the weapon.

“He's dying, and he’s in a lot of pain,” Johnny said, picking up my other hand and pressing the gun into it.  “Don’t make him suffer more than he has.”

I looked back at Carlos.  His eyes were fully open now, and focused on me.  He squeezed my hand. I started to sob in earnest, each breath coming out as a wail, as tears streamed down my face.  How could I do what he was asking? How could I kill the man I loved?

But Johnny was right.  Carlos’ suffering would only be prolonged.  He had lost so much blood, it was only a matter of time.  He had once said that if he was going to die, he’d rather I kill him than the Brotherhood.  If that was the last thing I could give him, then I would do it. I would steal his death from the enemy.  I would end his pain.

Putting the gun to his head was like sawing off my own arm.  I couldn’t see anymore, could barely breathe, and the sounds of my own agony were as loud as his.  Johnny put his hand on my shoulder. I clung to Carlos. And then I pulled the trigger.

It was like an electric current ripped through my limbs.  I screamed like I had been ripped in half and collapsed over his body.  I had killed him. I murdered him. The Brotherhood hurt him, but I took his life.  His body was slick with wet blood, but I clung to it anyway, crying out how sorry I was.  Sorry for killing him. Sorry for loving him. Sorry for not saying I loved him. Sorry for inviting him into my violent and deadly life.  He deserved so much more than what I had given him, and now he’d never get it.

“Boss, we gotta go,” Johnny said, trying to pull me off of Carlos’ body.  I pushed away his hands and screamed louder. It felt like screaming and sobbing were the only things I could do.  “The cops are coming.”

“They can’t _have_ him,” I yelled.  “I’ll kill them all.”

“They won’t have him,” Johnny said, wrapping an arm around my waist and physically lifting me off of Carlos.  “Our boys will be here in a minute, and we’ll clear him out before the cops get here.” Johnny shifted my weight until he was cradling me in his arms like a child.  I should have been humiliated, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to exist anymore. I didn’t care if the cops came and shot me on sight, or the Brotherhood showed back up and gunned me down.  I definitely didn’t care if my second-in-command carried me to the car while I sobbed into his chest.

Johnny closed the door, walked to the driver’s side of the car, got in, and turned the ignition.  At some point, he must have taken out his phone, because his next words were not to me. “I need at clean up crew down here, with a hearse,” he said and gave the address.  “I’m fine and the Boss is fine, but Carlos...he’s gone.”

“Tell them I killed him,” I spat.  “Tell them I’m a murderer. Tell them I ruined Carlos’ life the day he met me, and I’ll probably ruin everyone else’s life too.”

“Tell Shandi to get some tranquilizers or something,” Johnny said instead.  “I think we’ll need them tonight.”

I sank down in the seat as my sobs turned to silent weeping.  I could already feel a headache coming on, and my throat was sore and raw.  I stared out the window as we drove back to Purgatory, and Johnny, for once, stayed silent.  

When we pulled into the parking lot, Shaundi was already waiting for us.  She opened my door and squatted down to look me in the face. I didn’t meet her eyes.  I couldn’t. She’d see what a monster I was. A foul demon who had killed the man she claimed to love.

“Shit, how did she get like this?” Shaundi asked Johnny.  

“That’s a conversation for another time,” he said.  He should have outed me. He should have told her that I loved Carlos and killed him.  Like a stupid, evil bitch.

“Are you going to put me out of my misery?” I asked her, then chuckled as a thought came to me.  “You should put me out of everyone else’s misery.”

Shaundi brushed the hair out of my face, and wiped tears off my cheeks.  “Oh, Boss,” she said sympathetically. “I’ve got something that will help.”  A syringe appeared in her hand. She pushed the sleeve of my shirt up and carefully stuck the needle into my arm.  It barely hurt. I wanted it to hurt a lot. She depressed the plunger, and I watched the liquid drain into my veins.  Then the darkness overtook me.


	7. Martyrdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boss gets some revenge, but she'll never be the same, and she'll never stop fighting.

I woke with a dry mouth and a throbbing head.  I was too hot, sweaty, and wrapped in blankets like a tree wrapped in tinsel.  My eyes even ached, but I forced them open anyway to view the ceiling of my bedroom at Purgatory.  The light was dim, but not dark, and I couldn’t hear any sounds come from the clubhouse beyond.

With considerable effort, I managed to roll to my side.  Pierce was dozing in a chair set up right by the edge of the bed.  I flung my arm at him, and my knuckles smacked against his knee. He started, and his eyes snapped open.  It took him a minute to realize what had woken him and focus his eyes on me.

“Boss, you’re awake,” he exclaimed.  “You need anything?” I opened my mouth to ask for water, but I couldn’t make sounds and my lips cracked painfully.  Instead, I made a motion of drinking out of a glass.

“You want something to drink?” he confirmed.  “I’ll get water.”

I took the time while he was out of the room to push myself into a sitting position.  I was in nothing but my bra and boxers. I didn’t like the idea of someone undressing me, but I suppose it was better than having been put to bed in the clothes I was wearing when… oh.  I remembered the events of the previous night. I imagined my emotions would have overtaken me if I hadn’t still been exhausted. As it was, I felt nothing. I pushed the blankets off of me, and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Then, Pierce returned.

“Shaundi undressed you, I swear,” he said, handing me an open bottle of ice cold water.  I took it and drank it all, the bottle crumpling noisily as I sucked it empty. The water was sweet and refreshing, and it cleared the bleariness from my eyes.  “Shaundi said you’d have a helluva headache, so I got you some Aleve, too,” Pierce added, handing me two blue pills. I swallowed them, then forced myself to my feet.

“Where’s the body?” I asked.

“We paid off a mortician,” he responded.  “No cops. I was gonna let his family know, but I don’t have any information on who his family is.”

“He doesn’t have any,” I said.  “It’s just us.” I grabbed a pair of athletic shorts from the dresser and yanked them on, then opened another drawer, searching for a t-shirt.  Instead, I found a clean, white A-shirt, worn almost transparent in places. I let my hand rest on it. How had it gotten here, thrown in with my clothes?  I pulled it to my face, and breathed deeply into the fabric, hoping it would smell like Carlos. It didn’t. It didn’t smell like anything. Still, I pulled it over my head and yanked it down on my torso.  Then, I grabbed a Stillwater University hoodie, and pulled that on over top.

“Uh, where you going, Boss?” Pierce asked, following me to the door.

“That bitch is still out there,” I replied, yanking the door open.  “I’m gonna find her, I’m going to torture her until she begs for death, and then I’m going to kill her in a way that makes Maero wish he were dead, too.”

“How are you going to do that?” he asked.  

“I’ll figure that out while I’m torturing her,” I snapped.  “First I’ve got to find the bitch.”

“Everyone’s out on the streets,” Pierce said.  “Soon as someone sees her, or Maero, or that fucker with the guitar, they’ll call.”  I stopped and looked at him.

“You set that up?” I asked, impressed.  He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Uh, I wish I could take credit, but Johnny gave the orders.  I think he’s cruising around town looking, too,” Pierce said.

Johnny.  Of course, he would know what I wanted without even asking me.  I would have to find a way to thank him. Then I remembered how I had reacted last night, and the way he had carried me to the car, and my cheeks burned.  He didn’t know what had happened between me and Carlos. None of them did. But the way I had lost it, they must suspect things. What badass banger has an emotional meltdown at the death of her lieutenant?  None that I knew of.

“Look, about my state of mind, last night…” I began, but Pierce cut me off.

“Shaundi said you were on some pretty nasty drugs, that’s why you had to be sedated,” Pierce informed me.  

“Uh, yeah,” I confirmed.  “You shouldn’t mix Molly and shrooms.”  I guess I could add Shaundi to the list of people to thank.

“I hope you don’t hit me for saying this,” Pierce began, putting up both hands, and taking a step back. “But it’s nice knowing you actually care about us, because sometimes you seem kinda cold.  I just wish it didn’t take this happening to find out.”

I stared blankly at Pierce.  He was a good man and a decent Lieutenant, but I probably wouldn’t cry over his death.  I wouldn’t cry over Shaundi, or anyone else, either. Even Johnny, who was my best fucking friend in the whole fucking world, might not get a tear shed.  Still, there was probably no hurt in letting him believe I would weep over him as I had Carlos, but I wasn’t going to encourage it.

“You gonna hang around here and be a sentimental bitch, or you gonna join me on the streets looking for red trucks?” I asked, ending the moment.

“I’ll get the keys,” he responded.

_____

It took three days, but eventually, I started getting reports of Jessica around town.  Then, Shaundi called to say she saw the red-headed bitch going into a bank with a briefcase of cash.  I was close by, so I got there in time see her meet with the bank manager.

I don’t know what I had planned to do before I saw her, but when I actually laid eyes on her, my blood started to boil.  There she was, walking around without protection, or even a side-arm, without a care in the world. The soulless monster should have been hiding in her cave, fearing the day I found her and exacted my revenge.  No matter, her arrogance, and stupidity would be her downfall.

Getting her out of the bank alive had been a chore, but the funny thing about cops is that they try really hard not to shoot white women being held hostage, so as long as I kept her between me and them, I could easily pick them off on my way out the building.  If anything, it was more difficult wrestling her into the trunk of her own car. She was a good inch or two taller than me, and while I had far more muscle than she did, the little bitch was scrappy. She bit me and dragged her fake nails across my neck, not drawing blood, but certainly leaving angry red welts.

I drove around for a few hours, listening to her scream and beat against the trunk of her car.  It was reckless, being out in the open for so long. At any minute, Maero could have learned what happened and sent his lackeys to hunt me down.  But I was feeling reckless, and I was angry, and I wanted her to suffer like Carlos had suffered. I contemplated dragging her through the streets, the asphalt tearing away her flesh, just like him, but I wasn’t a copy-cat.  

Whatever I did, it had to be original.  And it had to hurt Maero at least as much as he had hurt me.  That was when I realized I couldn’t kill her, not outright. They hadn’t killed Carlos, afterall.  They had just put him in such a terrible position that I had been the one forced to take his life. So that’s what I would do to him.  I’d put Jessica in a position so bad, he’d have to kill her. No, that wouldn’t work. Maero wasn’t like me. There was no way to know for sure he would put her out of her misery, if she was beyond help, and he was too self-centered to ever feel guilty if he did.  No, I would have to trick him into killing her. It would have to be something awful, something he wouldn’t see coming, and something he couldn’t take back. It would have to be something he’d charge head-first into, completely unsuspecting. And it would have to be soon, before he could track me down.  Something tonight. Something like the demolition derby.

A few phone calls later, and it was all set up.  The derby staff positioned Jessica’s Phoenix right where Maero’s truck would crash down on it after hitting the ramp.  She’d be crushed in her own car. A few wads of rolled hundreds convinced anyone working to ignore the sounds coming from the truck.  I imagine Jessica was terrified out of her mind. She had no idea what was coming. All she could hear was the roar of engines the derby set up.  Perhaps she could guess what was about to happen. I hoped, if she did, that it would be worse, being able to see it coming.

I hung around the derby, keeping an eye on the car.  I had to make sure no one investigated it, or moved it.  Plus, I wanted to see it go down. I wanted to watch as Maero crushed his own bitch under his wheels.  Then I wanted him to see me, so he knew exactly who to thank. Maybe I’d get lucky, and I’d see him break completely, like I had.

“You ready for this?” Johnny asked as the stadium filled.  It would be minutes, now, before I’d get my revenge.

“Just make sure the car’s ready and waiting,” I told him.  “Once it’s done, I’m gonna need a quick getaway.”

He left me there, and I steeled myself for what was to come.  Maero had come, just like I thought he would, driving the truck I thought he’d drive.  I smiled as he drove into the arena, and set up for the race next to a blue truck of similar build.  My smile grew into a gleeful grin as he launched himself into the air. He never even saw the Phoenix before crashing down on it, turning it into a broken pile of wrenched metal.  When he jumped out of the truck to claim his victory, I stepped out of the shadows, clapping for his performance.

“I’m gonna kill you right here, right now…” he growled, seeing me and stalking forward.

“No, you’re not,” I responded, tossing him the keys to his girlfriend's car before he could get too close.

“What’s this,” he asked.

“Do me a favor,” I told him.  “When you check the trunk, just remember you should have offered me something better than 20 percent.”  It was almost exactly what Jessica had said to me before she destroyed Carlos. It was a cosmically appropriate retort.

Maero looked at the keys again, this time recognizing them.  Then his eyes searched the arena, a desperate look on his face.  When he saw it, barely out from under his back wheels, I started to walk away.  A weaker man wouldn’t have been able to open the warped lid of the trunk, but Maero’s obsession with weight lifting had paid off.  He only had some trouble yanking the crushed metal off the body of his broken and dead girlfriend. I didn’t stick around to see anything after that.

______

“It’s not over,” I told Johnny as he handed me a half-empty bottle of tequila.  “I’m gonna keep going until Maero’s broken. And then I’m gonna shoot him in the face.”

“I know that,” he said as I took a swig out of the bottle.  “But we can celebrate the small victories.”

“This doesn’t feel like a victory,” I countered.  “This barely even feels like a win.”

I was sitting in the empty hot tub in my room at Purgatory.  We still had a lot of work to do, but I didn’t feel like doing any of it.  I was sure Pierce could come up with some grand plan that Shaundi could take credit for.  Then we’d go in, throw away the plan, and shoot every motherfucker in sight. And then I could come back to the hot tub and keep drinking.

“It’s better, though.  Isn’t it?” Johnny asked, perching on the edge of the tub.

“What is?” I asked.

“Knowing the motherfucker that took Carlos from you has paid for it.”

“Us,” I corrected.  “Took Carlos from all of us.”  Johnny sighed, then reached out his hand.  I thought he just wanted the bottle, but instead, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet.

“Come on out of there,” he said, leading me to the bed.  We both sat on its edge. “If you’re gonna mourn, I’ll do it with you, but not in a tub. We’ve still got dignity.”

“I’m not mourning,” I protested.

“Yeah, you are,” he said. “You’re mourning Carlos, just like I’m mourning Aisha.”

“You were in love with Aisha,” I pointed out, wrapping both hands around the Cuervo bottle to keep them from shaking.

“I know,” I agreed.  “And you were in love with Carlos.”

“I wasn’t,” I lied.  I could have said it more convincingly, but my heart wasn’t in it.  My heart wasn’t even in my body. It was with Carlos, buried in a pine box at the cemetery.

“You’re a fucking liar, Boss,” Johnny said. I was a liar. Always had been. And Johnny had always called me out on it, when he could.  But this time, he said it softly, gently, and my breath hitched. What was the point in keeping it from him any longer?

“How long have you known?” I asked him, and flopped down on my back.

“A while,” he responded.  “After Aisha’s funeral, you came and did some practice shooting, and you didn’t smell like you. You smelled like him.”

“Well, that’s… creepy.”

“I have a very well-honed sense of smell.  It enables me to find a Freckle Bitches from anywhere in the city.  Anyway, after that, I started watching you with him, but I wasn’t sure how you felt until we got tattoos.  The way you looked when I talked about him. I just knew.”

“Have you told anyone?” I asked.

“Who the fuck do you think I am?” he scoffed in mock outrage.  “Your secrets are my secrets, and I’ll fucking die with them.”

Johnny laid down next to me, and we both stared up at the ceiling.  It was a relief being honest, and I couldn’t help but let the tears well up in my eyes and spill over.  Johnny’s hand found mine, and we entwined fingers. Beyond everything he said, that let me know that he was here, he wasn’t leaving, and he didn’t judge me.  I let the tears turn into silent sobs, the emptiness left by Carlos too much to hold back anymore. Beside me, Johnny cried too, for Aisha, I assumed. I wouldn’t judge him either, and he knew it.  It hurt even more, seeing him cry. I could deal with this pain, as overwhelming as it was, but it must have been so much worse for him. And he didn’t deserve any of it.

“Can you make me a promise?” I asked him.

“Oh, I’m already planning to forget this little cry session ever happened,” Johnny responded.  I smiled.

“No, I know you won’t say anything, because I’d take you down with me,” I said.  “I want you to promise… when I die, don’t mourn me.”

“You think you’ll die first?” he asked, turning his head to look at me.  “You really think you, the woman who’s been shot, stabbed, drowned, and fucking blown up, is going to be the first of the two of us to die?”

“Maybe,” I said.  “I can’t see the future.  I just know that this bullshit that I’m feeling right now, I don’t want anyone to feel like this.  Not for me.”

“Hey,” he cautioned, squeezing my hand.  “I’ll fucking mourn you. And I’ll fucking destroy whoever took you down.”  I sighed, then tried again.

“Johnny, I don’t want my death to hurt you,” I explained.  “Avenge me, sure. But I don’t want you feeling like my death is some tragic loss. It’ll come, one day or another, and I’ll deserve it when it does.  I’m not innocent. I’m not good. And I love you too much to want you to ache for me.”

Johnny rolled onto his side, facing me, and tucked my hand under his chin.  He waited until I, too, had shifted onto my side to face him, then said, “You’re my best fucking friend in the whole fucking world.  I owe you my life several times over. It is because I love you that I will mourn you, and don’t you fucking take that from me. If you die before me, which again, I think is stupid and will never happen, I am going to hurt, and I am going to be angry, and I am going to miss you.  And just cuz I can see it coming, doesn’t mean it’ll hurt less.”

His answer didn’t make me happy.  It didn’t relieve anything. If anything, I felt more dread than I had before.  I had always thought Johnny and I were kindred souls, badass motherfuckers who didn’t get tangled up in morality or emotions.  But maybe we weren’t as alike as I had thought. Maybe he couldn’t turn off his emotions as easily as I could. Maybe he was just another sucker whose life I would ruin.  My eyes filled with tears at the thought of him mourning me like he had mourned Aisha.

The door opened, and Shaundi poked her head in.  She started to say, “Boss, you in here-” then froze at the sight of us on the bed.  

“Oh my god,” she whispered, backing up.  “Shit. I didn’t see anything, I’m so sorry.”

“You can come in,” I said.

“No,” she protested.  “I don’t want to see this.”

“Shaundi,” I sighed.  “Come here.” She hesitantly entered the room, keeping her eyes on her feet, and slowly made her way to the bed.

“I won’t tell anyone, I swear,” she said.

“Tell anyone what?” Johnny asked.  “We’re just two murderous thugs sharing a tender moment, and there ain't any-fucking-thing wrong with that.”  

“So much for forgetting this happened,” I grumbled to him.  He shrugged.

“It’s Shaundi,” he said, as if that explained everything.  I turned back to her.

“You want to join us?” I asked.  Her eyes went wide, and she took a step back.

“Look, I know I have a reputation,” she protested.  “But I do _not_ do threesomes, and I do _not_ have sex with my boss.”

Johnny and I looked at each other, then burst out laughing.

“Shaundi,” I said, after regaining the ability to breathe.  “Johnny and I are not having sex. As if he could ever get in my pants!”

“Hey!” Johnny protested.  “I could. If I wanted to.  Which I don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Shaundi said.  “I just thought… you’re in bed together.  I just assumed…”

“Get down here,” I demanded, beckoning her to crawl into the space between us.  She did, after a brief hesitation, and once she was settled on her back, Johnny and I both cuddled up to her on our respective sides.

“See, now isn’t this nice?” Johnny asked her.  “Just three killer gangbangers having a good cuddle in a nice big bed.”

“I feel uncomfortable,” Shaundi said.  “Why are we doing this?”

“Boss is sad,” he responded.

“I’m not sad,” I protested.  “I just miss him, is all.”

“Carlos?” Shaundi asked.

“Yeah.”

“I miss him, too,” she confided.  “I feel like I wasted time when I should have been getting to know him better.”

“He was a good kid,” Johnny agreed.  I didn’t say anything, I just pressed my forehead into Shaundi’s shoulder.

The door opened again, and this time it was Pierce poking his head in.

“Oh, so this is where everyone got to,” he said, walking in and setting the tablet he had been carrying on the table.  “Is it a cuddle orgy? Can I join?”

“No offense, but don’t touch me,” Johnny said.

“Oh, I’m not offended,” Pierce replied. “I’m well aware that you’re not ready for the pleasure of my touch.”  Johnny glared at Pierce, but since his arm was trapped under both me and Shaundi, he couldn’t do much else.

“Come here, Pierce,” I said.  “You can be my big spoon.”

Pierce didn’t waste any time before kicking off his shoes and joining us.  It felt nice being sandwiched between the bulk of Pierce and the softness of Shaundi.  For a while, we just laid there, breathing as one. It was a good moment, but I knew it wouldn’t last.  There was too much danger out there for any of us to stay safe. I would try to be the biggest, baddest bitch out there.  The more powerful I became, the safer all of them would be. But I’d never let my guard down again like I had with Carlos, not with any of them.  I’d never again give someone the power to hurt me that much.

“I’ve been thinking,” Pierce said.  “We should do something for Carlos, to honor his memory.  And Aisha. And any other Saint we might lose in the future.”

“What did you have in mind?” I asked him.

“How about a memorial wall?  We could put up their pictures, and maybe some candles, maybe a little bio.”

“A wall of martyrdom,” Shaundi suggested.  “Where everyone could go to pay their respects.”

“That’s a good idea, Shaundi,” I said.

“It was my idea,” Pierce said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Shaundi, why don’t you spearhead that,” I said, and Pierce clucked his tongue.  “Make it happen.”

“It was _my_ idea,” Pierce said again, the annoyance more clear.

“Thanks for including Aisha, Shaundi,” Johnny said.

“It was _MY_ idea!”


End file.
